


The Waves

by JulesD (julesdrenages)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Beware of Feels, Happy Ending, M/M, human!Midorima, merman!Takao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesdrenages/pseuds/JulesD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.” </p><p>― T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

> . This is what happens when you leave me and Leona (http://archiveofourown.org/users/LeonaDracontis/pseuds/LeonaDracontis) alone on Skype for too much time. I wish I could say this is the only thing (or the worse thing) we came up with... Anyway, just know that this wouldn't have seen the light without her.
> 
> . Also, this fandom (and this ship) needed a Mer!AU;
> 
> . English has not become my first language in the meantime. Please, bear with me as I try (and fail) to improve my spelling, grammar and typing skills.
> 
> . "The Waves", by Ludovico Einaudi: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ie951V1yd4A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kazunari had ended up in the bay many years later, following a warm current after another forced farewell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have only recently discovered wispiest(http://wispiest.tumblr.com/)'s fabulous illustration of mer!Takao, inspired by this fic! You can admire her beautiful piece here:   
> http://wispiest.tumblr.com/post/89823311036/alone-please-read-this-fanfic-i-dont-know-what
> 
> Thanks a lot! It's perfect and it made me so happy..! <3

The village overlooked the bay from a high, light-coloured cliff. It was small, so much that it barely deserved to be called a town: the post office received the mail once a month, and Ol’ Maji’s was the only pub; there was a little emporium that sold pretty much anything, from food to livestock, while Tora’s shop had specialized in fishing tools. Someone, many years before, had erected a bell tower beside a ruined stable and turned it into a chapel that their descendants still took care of (ringing the bell, refreshing the candles and flowers, cleaning the benches), because the appointed priest only came once a week to celebrate the rites and bless the newborns, the deads and the spouses; he usually left right after the functions and went back to his church in the city. The local barber, a man educated enough to be able to read and write and who had lived the hard life of the seaman long enough to be called wise, had been chosen as their mayor during a windy night at the tavern, because who needed elections when all the voters could fit in a room and discuss things with a pint in their hands?

The whole town lived thanks to the products of the ocean: it wasn’t much, but it granted a dignified existence to all the inhabitants. There was at least a fisherman in every family and those who were too young or too unfortunate to have a boat of their own worked for the ones that did, saving the money to settle down themselves in a bunch of years or move to the nearest city, in search of a better life. They never went back.

It was a town of tough people, hardened by the sea and its unforgiving nature, though forever attracted to its ultimate beauty: complaining was not in their nature and neither was running away.

The nearest doctor resided in the city as well, more than twenty miles in the inland and the closest sign of civilization. The villagers could reach it on foot, walking a narrow, muddy road that was large enough for an average handcart and crossed a couple of wobbly bridges, or by train. The railway ended three miles away from the town, and the only vehicles that stopped at the run-down station were short freight trains that came from the city. They arrived late in the evening, discharged some goods (on the rare days they had them), stalled there for the night and went back the following morning, barely before dawn, taking away the freshly caught fish; passenger trains were not scheduled at all, and the poor souls that didn’t dare to walk all the way to the city usually had to bargain a lift with the conductor and travel among the boxes.

Nobody in the village could afford a horse: even the mayor had to do with a donkey and nobody saw anything wrong with that. All in all, they leaded quiet, normal, busy lives: men went out fishing, women took care of the vegetable gardens and of the few animals they could afford with the children. Every night they stopped at the tavern to have a drink or smoke in peace or just chat for a while, while every Sunday they celebrated their rites, hoping the prays would keep their God from sending another storm that season: it wasn’t a weird occurence in their region, but through the years they had lost at least fifteen boats and all the men on board, not to mention the tragic event of Tora’s wife, who had died in childbirth because the hail had destroyed one of the bridges that lead to the city and they hadn’t been able to reach the doctor in time. At least her daughter had survived, and Tora had still had a reason to keep living.

Kazunari remembered every single one of those storms and still felt a bit sorry for not having been able to do more. The last time, a couple of winter before, the ships involved had been three, scattered all around the bay: when the huge waves had striked, he’d reached them all, but less than half of the humans he’d found had managed to survive. Perhaps he should have reacted earlier, swum faster, grabbed them tighter, but then, they had always been such fragile creatures…

Kazunari had lived with them for a long time, had watched interested from the waters as generations of humans rushed through their youth, grew into their maturity and fell in love with each other, married and gave birth to their sons and daughters and in the blink of an eye, before Kazunari knew, they had died and someone else was living in their place.

*

Almost everything Kazunari knew about his race, he’d learned from his mother.

Merfolk were longevous, lone creatures. It was in their nature to wander around the seas on their own, but the oceans were huge and their number so little that it could be likely, for a merman that was a little less adventurous than average, to spend his long lifetime without meeting a fellow triton, not even once.

Kazunari had been luckier or, rather, he’d searched the waters long enough to come face to face with several different mermaids and mermen: he’d spent with them as much time as they had allowed, sharing memories and stories, asking questions and basking in the company.

Since the encounters between specimens of the opposite sex were sporadic and almost improbable, whenever they had the chance, they urged to mate. Males, who were usually more prone to travel, never settling down in a place for more than a few weeks, took their leave as soon as there was sign of conception. Females were nomads as well, though it was in their habit to linger in a favoured spot for longer, which granted them a secure nest to carry eventual pregnancies to term. True to their nature, all of Kazunari’s partners, at one point or another, had swum away, disappearing in the dark waters without a trace. It was supposedly normal for their species, yet it had never failed to leave Kazunari with a painful emptiness and a weird, lingering ache in his chest that had never really went away.

Merfolk were not doting parents. Mermaids birthed their offspring alone, in the privacy of their shelters. It was quite rare for them to deliver more than one youngling at a time, but not unheard of. The mother nurtured the newborns until they were big enough to eat fish; only then, the alevins were taught everything they needed to know to survive: they were allowed to follow their mother around while she procured food and instructed them about predators, territory, kin. Mermaids used the time they were forced to spend with their sons and daughters passing them the knowledge of their folk, as well: legends as ancient as time itself, stories of past wars between clans, tales of a Sea Witch that could grant any wish, if you were willing to pay her price.

Kazunari had memorized all of them, as it was expected of him, but those he loved most were the ones about humans and the tragedies of mermaids that desired them for their own, ready to lose their identity and sanity to overcome the solitude that their fragile hearts couldn’t take any longer.

When his mother had had nothing more to teach him, she had simply left; Kazunari had woken up in the den they’d shared (for a time that hadn’t been long enough in his opinion) and found her gone, her nest empty and her hunting tools missing. He’d known that she’d answered again the call for solitude their kin always heard, as she had already done many times before having him and would surely have done in the future. He’d known that it should have been the opposite: that the call came for the children first, the tangible sign of their coming of age, urging them to leave for the unknown with no one but themselves for company. Kazunari had felt the itch a couple of times, the hint of annoyance at some of his mother’s habits, the desire to swim to far away places to meet and mate, but it hadn’t been strong enough for him to act on it. And it hadn’t been as strong as his mother’s, who, in the last years, had become restless and feral. One day, it had been too much for her to bear: her istinct couldn’t be contained anymore and she had left. Kazunari hadn’t fault her, for he’d known she couldn’t have helped it. Still, he had cried.

*

Kazunari had ended up in the bay many years later, following a warm current after another forced farewell.

He’d been gloomy and sad, lazily twirling around in the shallow water, with no interest whatsoever in his surroundings, until something had casted a huge oval shadow at the bottom of the sea. He’d followed the foreign shape with his eyes for a while, before turning around and seeing a majestic, dark thing sail at high speed right at the surface. Kazunari had stared for a long time, before swimming straight towards it and tagging along, feeling more alive than he’d ever did in a century or so and bursting with energy, apathy burned to ashes by the rush of adrenaline that came with the joy of discovery, the innate curiosity and the pure wonder of having your dreams come true before your eyes.

The oars had almost killed him, that first time, but Kazunari had laughed it off and danced around them right after the accident, already hearing many different voices above him and shaking some loneliness away, basking in his own foolishness, and, most of all, his genuine happiness.

*

Kazunari had fallen in love with the human race the moment he had seen those strange creatures walk loudly off the huge floating thing. They communicated to each other with rich, articulate noises, their voices were extremely different from one another and Kazunari, though he couldn’t understand a word, was inebriated by the variety of sounds that came out of their mouths. He’d taken shelter behind a rock and for hours he’d just stayed there, watching. The first time he’d put his head above the water, ages before, when he was little more than an alevin and had got caught up with a couple of playful dolphins, he’d seen nothing but the endless blue sea. During his explorations, he’d stumbled across several islands and atolls, and a couple of high cliffs, but nobody had lived there at the time. Thanks to his sharp eyesight (a common trait for his kind, as far as he had been told) he could see the tiny little people running in and out of their square havens, humans of different shapes and colours moving up and down the cliff towards the shore and back, lifting things above their head, wobbling slightly in those weird, split tales of theirs. Their hands were not palmate and their colours a bit dull, but there were hair all over some of their faces and they covered themselves with weird accessories that fluttered behind them as they moved. Their territory seemed small, but they were not fighting for it. He could discern their females and their pups, but there were other living creatures he’d never seen, among them, and huge weeds that rose straight from the ground, while the air was heavy with new, intoxicating scents. Human voices filled his ears and he watched in sweet rapture as they moved quickly like a neat, organized shoal: the gestures, the expressions, the closeness between them.

Longing surged in Kazunari all at once, tainted with the tiniest drop of jealousy and from that moment on, no matter how long he’d been away in his travels and adventures, he had always gone back to the bay: to the backdrops and caves he had learned to know so well. To the people he could almost claim to know, so long had he been observing them. To the only place he’d ever felt like belonging to.

*

Kazunari’s first encounter with a human was bound to happen, sooner or later, though not in the way the merman had always dreamed and imagined.

The storm had hit the ship at night, right at the entrance of the bay: the man had been thrown off board and his crew hadn’t been able to do anything for him. Kazunari, that had taken shelter at the bottom of a reef, had assisted to the scene from his hidden position and acted on istinct. He had long since learned that humans were not meant to survive under water for long. The legends were clear on this point, but seeing it with his own eyes had impressed and scarred him. Thus, he had rushed towards the man and grabbed him before it was too late, keeping his head above the surface and swimming through the huge waves. He’d managed to bring him to safety, swimming between two high rocks that were close enough to shield the little shore behind them from the tempest.

He’d pushed the fainted human on land as much as he could, and watched over him for a long time, trailing his fingers over coarse hair and hardened skin, soaked clothes and dirty ears. He’d listened to the sound of his heart and the faint breathing noises, pinched the large nose and poked the plump lips, rested his head on the round belly and played, fascinated, with the two indipendent tails that carried that human around.

As soon as the man had regained consciousness, he had murmured words of blessing and thanks, neither of which Kazunari could understand, but he’d liked the sound of those, nevertheless, and waggled his tail a bit, playfully. Once the man had been fully lucid and able to realize what Kazunari really was, probably mindful of those old songs about ensnaring creatures, beautifully perched on reefs to capture foolish men and eat their hearts, he’d fled out of the water in sheer panic. Kazunari had lounged for him reflexively and the man had kicked him back in the sea, throwing him rocks and shells to keep him at distance, shouting in terror, calling him a blood-thirsty monster and ignoring his cries of pain and confusion.

The man had escaped on wobbly legs, screaming for bloody murder, and Kazunari had let him go, too stunned and hurt and scared to do otherwise.

The man, much later, had become famous in the inland as a perpetually drunk, old sailorman whose arsenal of stories included the neat retelling of his hellish kidnap: a suggestive description of the vicious merman that wanted to dine with his guts and a convincing rendition of his brave fight and flight from the monster’s den. Nobody really believed him, but his talent as a story teller was usually enough to buy him another bottle of rum.

Kazunari, after that night, had spent several bitter years licking his wounds as far from the bay as he could.

*

A long time after the sailorman and his sons had died, Daiki and Satsuki had taught Kazunari their language.

Kazunari was familiar with them: they were young by human standards, forms still round and short, and they were used to play near the water above his den, where the crabs were easy to catch and seashells of different shapes could be found without much effort. They were loud and lively, and though Kazunari was not, at the moment, extremely fond of humans, he couldn’t help but smile at some of their expressions and beam at their laughter.

One day, the boy had thrown a sparkly stone into the water. It had landed near Kazunari’s fins and he had picked it up, curious. Than he’d heard the screaming and the cries. Being careful not to be spotted, he’d watched as the girl punched the boy in the arm and sobbed. The boy had yelled at her a couple of times and then he’d pouted too, his face sad and regretful.

Kazunari had forgotten all kind of resentfulness and carefully thrown the shiny rock at their feet.

The kids, startled, had picked it up, and because they were far more smart than one could guess, they’d istantly looked around, searching for the one who had returned their treasure.

Kazunari had slowly come out of his hiding place, keeping only his eyes and nose above the water. The kids had seen him and said something he couldn’t understand. They had whispered to each other and talked to him in a questioning tone, but Kazunari had no answers. They had raised their hand and slowly waved at him, in the end, and he had mimicked their gesture without thinking. They saw his palmate hands and did a double-take. Kazunari ducked under the water at top speed while they ran behind a bush.

Moments later, he’d emerged just enough to let his eyes scan his surroundings. There were two pair of eyes blinkng at him, two coloured heads poking from the meager bush, two mouths opened in disbelief, more than fear. They had looked at each other for a long time, neither of them moving, until a sharp call had echoed through the little cove and the kids answered. They had spoken to each other in hushed tones, casted a last glance at Kazunari, and run towards the voice.

Contrary to Kazunari’s belief, they’d showed up the following day, and the one after that, and the one after that, as if anything had happened at all. Kazunari had watched, because that was the thing he was best at.

The girl liked shiny, coloured things. She collected seashells and pretty stones. The boy liked catching crabs with his bare hands and make up little traps for small fish. During clam season, they had filled whole buckets with them, and carried them home with proud smiles. The sight had done funny things to Kazunari’s heart, so much that the following day, the kids had found twice as many clams in the water, and their joyous laughter had ringed in Kazunari ears for many days after. When they had come again, the girl had launched a bouquet of coloured weeds at Kazunari’s hiding rock. He’d caught them from beneath the surface and studied them: they tasted awful, but he couldn’t deny they looked pretty.

On a sunny, lazy day of summer he had emerged again. The girl had seen him first and caught the boy’s attention. She had waved her hand at him again, then, and he had answered like the previous time. She had smiled a bright smile at him and took an hesitant step forward. The boy had called her and she had pouted. Takao was as still as a statue. The girl had spoken to him with a calm, low voice, from her safe spot on the shore:

-          Hello.

Kazunari had inclined his head to the side. She had waved at hi mone more time, repeating:

-          Hello.

He mirrored her motions, still keeping his mouth under the water. She had placed her open hand onto her chest, then, and said:

-          Satsuki.

Then she had put her palm on the boy’s chest and said, clearly:

-          Daiki.

After that, she had pointed at Kazunari, her head tilted up in questioning. It took her another couple of attempts to make Kazunari understand what she meant with that, and another one before he could come up with a sound that it could make sense to them. His throat had never been used to speak before. He didn’t even know if he could. He braced himself onto his favourite rock, anyway, lifting his chin and neck above the water and moving his lips and tongue to shape the sound. His voice came as a total surprise for him and Kazunari clamped his hand onto his mouth at the first noise, eyes wide. He looked around frantically, but the kids on the beach were looking at him with curiosity and eagerness. He took a deep breath, something he definitely wasn’t used to and slowly enunciated:

-          Ka…zun…ari.

The girl, Satsuki, had glowed.

*

Learning to speak the language of humans had been the best experience of his life. Meeting friends twice or thrice a week for more than a month was even better. By the end of summer, Kazunari had learned hundreds of new words, grasped the basics of verbs and he had been able to take part in simple, small conversations. So when the kids had explained to him, in simple words, that the cold season was coming and that their visits would have become less frequent and less regular, he had understood.

*

Humans grew fast. It seemed to Kazunari that very little time had passed from their first encounter, and yet Daiki and Satsuki had become taller and leaner than before, their bodies taking different shapes and filling in different places. They rarely visited him together anymore, busy as they were helping with the fishing boats or taking care of the house, but they still found time to greet him, every now and then: they told him stories about the villagers, complained about feeling trapped in a cage of rules made by others and imposed on them, showed him how flawed and limited some humans could be. Kazunari listened and caught lobsters for them, because they’d told him those sold well and for some reason that was important. Daiki, in gratitude, brought him tools to open ostrichs and blades to better defend himself against small sharks. Satsuki made him taste food he’d never imagined could exist.

Suddenly, she stopped going altogether.

Kazunari had started to get worried, until Daiki had appeared with a weird expression on his face, seriously agitated and seething in anger. Kazunari had let him speak.

-          You have to go away.

-          What?

-          They’re coming for you, you have to go.

-          I don’t understand. Where is Satsuki?

Daiki had sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then, he’d started from the beginning, speaking fast and in a low tone. Kazunari couldn’t keep track of his words very well.

-          Some old hags from the village have noticed her coming here. They had suspicions and they followed her, as much as their frail bones could allow it. They’ve heard her talking confidentially to a man and laughing with him. They’ve seen her bringing food and flowers to him. A… a girl can’t do shit like this and get away with it, even if it’s Satsuki. Her father has locked her up. Her mother doesn’t let her out of the house if not for church. She’s never alone. I can barely talk to her. And now they’re coming for you.

-          What?

-          They want to know who’s the man that is corrupting Satsuki.

-          I don’t understand.

-          In this village, a girl like Satsuki can’t go around talking to men like that. And unknown men can’t pick up our girls and pretend to geta way with that. Her father and all his friends are coming to teach that man a lesson. They don’t have to find you, instead.

-          But why? Can’t we explain it was all a mistake?

-          If they see you, they’ll want to put your head on a pick and burn Satsuki for mating with the Devil’s spawn.

-          But we didn’t do anything!

-          I know! Just… please, Kazunari, go away!

It was his face, more than his words, to convince him.

-          How long?

-          I don’t know… until waters have calmed a little?

-          Will I ever see you again?

-          I hope so.

-          Can you promise me you’ll keep her safe? That you two will be fine?

-          Only if you promise me the same.

Kazunari had nodded. Then they heard angry shouts and booming voices, coming closer.

-          Tell her that those peaches were the sweetest thing I’ve ever eaten.

He had dived in a swirl of orange fins and disappeared to the sight. Daiki had stared at the deep blue waters with a broken face. Kazunari had swum at top speed in fron of Satsuki’s house, but no matter of wide his field of vision was, his gaze couldn’t penetrate walls. He turned towards the open sea without looking back, pondering how strange and cruel, blind and mean humans could be to themselves and to each other.

It was by far the worst farewell Kazunari had ever had. Despite the love he held in his heart for the kids, he wondered, for the first time, if the friendship he’d craved from humans was just not meant to be.

*

The day Momoi had married, a couple of years later, she had launched her bouquet of daffodils in the ocean. The following morning, Aomine had found in his boat the most beautiful seashell they had ever seen and showed it to her. They had smiled in front of their little house on the isolated beach and waved at the horizon. Kazunari had flipped his tail above the surface, just enough for them and them alone to see.

The little spark of hope had not really been dead, yet.

*

Makoto had been different from every human Kazunari had observed in his long life: he’d appeared in the village all of a sudden, and when he’d got off the train in a blur, nobody was expecting him. He was a charming, lively man that apparently couldn’t stay still. He didn’t have to work and resided at the local inn, but except for brief periods of time, mostly after lunch, when he most probably napped or schemed in his room, he was always in movement: he walked and looked around the bay, taking interest in every living creature he encountered. He observed plants and picked their leaves, studied wild, little animals, took measures and drew sketches. He collected the weirdest looking seashells from the shore and pulled presumed fossils from the rocks. He took with him shiny minerals and pinned large insects on wooden plates. When he wasn’t exploring every inch of sand available, he usually sat comfortably on a plump chair with a sheet of paper and some ink at hand, scheming with a particular gleam in his eyes and his tongue slightly poking out of his lips.

Kazunari at that point had been starving for company for many years, and since the man had picked his interest with his unusual habits, Kazunari had approached him, one faithful morning. Makoto had been stunned for a while, not believing in his eyes: Kazunari had expected it and had taken it slowly.

Talking had been his trump card, since the man had visibly relaxed at that, little by little, until a new light had shined in his eyes and he had looked at Kazunari like he was the most beautiful thing in the world. His words, as he tentatively answered Kazunari’s attempt at conversation, had been sweet like honey and Kazunari had been so naive and so desperate for a connection of some kind, to believe them.

Makoto had refined his knowledge of the human language, taught him basic calculus and showed him how to read. Kazunari’s palmed hands were not meant to grasp a nib, but he’d learned to form letters, and then words, by writing them in huge circles on the sand. Learning from Makoto was fun and rewarding. Leaning into his casual touches was warming and fulfilling.

Several months after their first encounter, they were lounging side by side on the shore, a few meters away from the water, since Makoto had persuaded Kazunari to experience, for once, the awful dryness humans lived in. Kazunari had moved clumsily on the sand and they’d laughed together at his awkward attempts to be casual about it.

When the sun was at its pick, the heat had started to go at Kazunari’s head: he’d felt dizzy and sleepy, unable to make out what was really going on around him. They had fallen silent and for long minutes none of them had spoken, until Kazunari, positively ill from the sunbath, had turned to see Makoto gone, and called for him in uneasiness and discomfort. The man had pounced on him from behind a bush with a thick fishnet and a rope, while another one had sprung out from his own hiding place with a long, sharp knife. There had been a wild struggle and Kazunari had plunged towards the water in sheer desperation, still caught up in the net, while Makoto’s brutish accomplice pulled him backwards and Hanamiya Makoto himself, convicted fraud and scoundrel, who had decided to self-exile himself at the isolated village to clear his traces, went for him with the blade uncovered, fully determined to capture Kazunari and make the merman his golden goose, the definite piece to complete his collection of wonders.

The fight had been savage and merciless and it had taken Kazunari all of his strenght and a huge dose of luck to get free and reach the sea again. He had swirled his tail around like a whip, uncaring of the broken sounds it teared from the men and mindless of the stinging pain in his muscles, where the dagger cut through his flesh. As soon as he’d felt the grip of the net loosen a bit, he’d dived towards the bottom of the sea, towards the submerged tunnels and cave he knew so well, towards his nest and haven. He could feel a dead weight behind him, slowing him down, and for once he had been glad that humans were so easy to break.

He had retrieved Daiki’s old, ruined blades from the weeds and freed himself of the net. He’d cut open the dead man’s throat, headed for a cave to tend to his wounds and left the rest to the sharks.

Hanamiya Makoto had spent the rest of his life seething with rage in the slum of the city, leaning on a cane (the hip that the merman’s tail had broken so badly never recovered) and mourning the dreams of ambition he had lost (along with his leg) to the creature’s fury and rage. He tried searching the seas for the beautiful thing again, but it was all in vane.

*

Kazunari let his battered body recover and swore to himself not to leave the water again, never again, in presence of a human, and most of all not to trust them anymore. He laid exhausted, famished and so very shaken on his nest of weeds, fueled by feelings of hatred towards the humans that had toyed with him as they pleased and hurt him so badly. Through the violent shivers and the spiteful grinding of teeth, though, he found himself longing for Satsuki’s long gone smile and fondly remembering Daiki’s genuine joy.

He laughed bitterly (it sounded more like a wail, to his ears) and took his head in his hands, curling his ruined tail tightly around himself as he fell into a deep, exhausted slumber. He knew what he was going to see in his dreams. He knew he would have embraced those dreams whole-heartedly and with that simple thought, he also knew he was doomed.

Kazunari didn’t reappear near the surface for many years, after that day, but that time, no matter how much the situation called for it, he did not leave the bay at all.

Since the day Satsuki had taught him the meaning of that word, he'd called it _home._


	2. Chapter 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- So, what brings a brilliant scholar from the capital like you in a place like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to keep updates as regular as possible; please, bear with me if I'm not able to keep up the schedule every now and then. My life is going to be chaotic in the upcoming weeks.

Midorima Shintarou got off the evening train slowly: it wasn’t in his habits to drag his feet, though his mood might have required it. The station, if it could indeed be called that, consisted of a narrow platform, a rusty bench, a dim lampost and a clock whose hands pointed a considerably different hour than Shintarou’s pocket watch. He frowned: he had no doubts which one to trust.

Not that he had expected anything different: he had known, when he’d selected this place forgotten by God, what was waiting for him, but awareness hadn’t made the journey from the capital to the small city and then to that place any easier; though he did not regret his decision in the slightest, he was still perfectly and painfully aware of what exactly he’d left behind and stepping out of the run-down post to find, in front of him, a poky, muddy road, no horses in sight and no trace of the person that was supposed to welcome him did nothing to lighten up his mood.

The conductor and stokers hopped off their respective wagons and looked in his direction, silently offering to help him with the heavy luggage. Midorima nodded, thanked them and surveyed the whole process while taking care of the most fragile things.

Bringing all his belongings and possession hadn’t been neither easy or cheap. It had taken two carriages to move those huge trunks and suitcases, and though he had to admit that put together like that they made quite a lot of stuff, it had been a bit sad and disconcerting to see that his whole life could be packed up in such a small space.

The men bid him farewell and retired into a rotten booth he hadn’t noticed before: it was barely big enough to fit their four pallets, the thin door was broken and there was a square hole in the wooden wall that could probably pass for a window. They had managed to bring electricity there, probably from the lampost, and a single dim bulb hung lonely from the damp ceiling. Shintarou’s mouth twitched at the thought that that was where the men ate their packed dinners, went to sleep right after the cold meal and woke in the middle of the night, right in time to set the machines ready to leave as soon as the fishermen brought their fresh products. He absent-mindedly listened to their coarse chatter and scratched his left forearm for the nth time: his shirt itched.

The sting of humiliation was still fresh and he still felt extremely uncomfortable in the clothes he was wearing. The day before, he had left the capital in a respectable attire and polished shoes and had reached the small city after hours of travelling without a single wrinkle on his trousers. That afternoon he had left towards the station with a crisp, white shirt on and a neat three-pieces suit: formal enough to be distinguished and proper in public once he arrived, comfortable enough to endure a rough train ride. When he had reached the appointed platform, a dirty, narrow thing at the very end of the station, the porters with all his luggage right behind him, Taisuke Ootsubo, the conductor had almost choked with laughter and promptly pushed him towards the cleanest wagon of his designed ride: Shintarou had turned green at the stench of fish and rotten vegetables, not to mention the suspicious, viscous fluids at the floor. As the giovial man patted his shoulders in earnest, Shinsuke Kimura, one of the pokers, had taken pity of him and called for his fellow workman Kiyoshi Miyaji to ‘lend the kid something’. Shintarou had took off his clothes in the middle of the platform (nobody went there except from the machinists, but it was still a public place, for heaven’s sake!), replacing them with a yellow-ish shirt of coarse cotton, too short trousers that were ripped at the knee and old boots whose leather was cracked in several places. Taisuke Ootsubo had looked at him from head to toe and nodded, signaling for the men to put all of Midorima’s luggage on the wagon.

Shintarou had spent the following hour inside a rusty freight train, sittin on his own suitcases in total darkness, with something that felt too much like fish guts squelching under the sole of his borrowed boots.

*

Half an hour later it was already pitch black and Shintarou was starting to feel nervous. The workmen had turned off their dim light and laid down to catch some hours of sleep while they could, nobody had come to pick him up as planned and he was getting cold and paranoid. There were _things_ moving behind the not so distant trees and Shintarou was perfectly aware that seated like that on the broken bench, under the flickering, round light of the lampost, with several, valuable-looking trunks scattered around him, he was the perfect prey for either wild beasts or bandits. From the indications he had got, the village shouldn’t have been too far, but the road was rough and a bit dangerous, which was why, when they had contacted the inhabitants, the mayor had told them to make Midorima wait at the platform for a local to escort him to his new home. He was definitely tired of waiting, though, and felt more than a little distressed at the locals behaviour: not only they’d played him like a fool, but he didn’t even have the means to walk towards the village on his own. There was nothing around to help him carry his heavy luggage: not an animal, not even a handcart. And leaving most of his luggage there was out of the question: it wasn’t only an open invitation for thieves to feast on his valuable possessions, there was also the practical need for many of those items, which were fundamental for the practice of his profession, and the emotional attachment to what had remained of his old life. Shintarou got up to stretch his legs and kicked an abandoned cardboard box in frustration. At that moment, he hears a rustling sound coming from south and a quiet hummin: a youth more or less his age appeared from the shadows, walking down the road with an old donkey at his side, pulling a little, loaded carriage.

-          Good evening! Are you our new doctor?

It wasn’t the one Shintarou expected: wary and far from trusting the guy, Midorima eyed him in the low light. He was a tall, big man with heavy eyebrows and a kind face. His shoulders were broad and his hands extremely wide. Shintarou noticed that he tried not to put too much of his weight on his left knee, when he walked. It could have been a trick from the start, as much as the gentle expression stamped on his face, but he didn’t really have a choice, did he? Besides, he hadn’t forgotten, while changing clothes, to pocket his small knife. It rested, cold, against his tight and was strangely comforting, in a moment like that. Giving the stranger the benefict of doubt, but still keeping at distance, he tilted his head up and spoke clearly, voice not wavering:

-          I am, sir. Doctor Midorima Shintarou, at your service. I had been told to wait for mayor Hyuuga.

-          Aye! He was supposed to come, but old Betsy went into labour an hour ago and since it seemed she could have a difficult birth, he had to stay and help…

It still could have been a well orchestrated trap, but if it was indeed the truth, Shintarou couldn’t just ignore a medical emergency of that caliber. He fished a leather bag from the luggage, the small one he always carried around, the one equipped for every kind of first aid, ready to leave everything else behind when a second ago the thought had made him sick, because that was just the way a physician’s mind worked: it prioritized. And what a was a bunch of stuff when there was a life (two, actually) at stakes?

-          Let’s hurry, then! If you’d gotten here on time we would have already been there!

The man tilted his head to the side and studied him with a surprised, though pleased, expression:

-          Mh? You want to help too?

Shintarou practically snarled in disbelief:

-          I’m a _doctor_!

The man chuckled:

-          Sorry, sorry! I didn’t know city doctors knew that much about these things, but I guess a birth is a birth, after all… but we have to put your things on the cart. It’s not safe to leave them unattended. Here, if we do it together it will take less time.

Shintarou rushed to his side and helped him pulling a battered handcart off the main carriage (‘I knew you’d have lots of stuff: Ralph is too old to pull all that weight, we’ll have to do our share!’); then, in less than a couple of minutes, they had all of Midorima’s luggage loaded into the two carts. When they were done, the man silently gestured Shintarou towards the donkey (‘He knows the road!’) and limped towards the now heavy handcart.

Before he could take the pulling position properly, Shintarou looked at his knee and pushed him away, grumbling something about not trusting animals he didn’t know. The man regarded him with a somber expression, took the donkey’s reins and started walking.

*

The road was a nightmare. The smallest hole was as deep as Shintarou’s ankle and, even when he managed to avoid them, the wheels of the handcart got stuck every two or three steps. The trunks were extremely heavy to pull, too, and Shintarou was struggling with all his strenght to pull everything forward. Between a pant and a grunt, he looked up at the man in front of him, carefully avoiding the worst paths by walking on the side of the road and soothingly speaking to the slow donkey. The animal flicked its tail and ears at his words and kept going, almost effortlessly. Shintarou noticed with annoyance that their carriage looked much more lighter than his.

-          Say, sir. While I do agree that it would have been inpractical, if not downrigth cruel to the animal, to make the donkey pull all the luggage, why is it that all of the heaviest trunks were put here for a human to move?

The man tilted his head back but didn’t stop his march:

-          Because Ralph is old and I’d feel very bad to tire him out so much for a couple of suitcases I’m perfectly able to take myself. We’re almost there, wanna change?

Shintarou swallowed and revised, in his head, the ethic principles of his profession and why exactly he had decided to devote his life to that career.

-          I’m fine. Let’s go.

*

At long last, the village came into view. The moon hung over the sea, casting silvery reflexes on the calm surface: it was not full, but it made enough light to outline the few, small houses clearly in the night. Candle lights glowed behind thin curtains in several rooms, but the brightest glow came from the windows of the inn. The man rushed forward and opened the door with confidence:

-          Ohi, Mitobe! How’s doing? Are they all at Izuki’s still? I see. I’ve brought the doctor, we’re gonna help too! Can we leave his stuff here? Great!

It had sounded as a one-sided conversation, but Shintarou was too exhausted to care. The man turned to him and glowed in determination:

-          Mitobe’ll take care of your things, let’s go!

That said, he sprinted towards the eastern side of the village, where voices and animal noises could be heard, and gestured for Shintarou to follow. Midorima looked at his discarded luggage with apprehension until a tall, silent figure loomed over him. The bartender (if it were indeed him) tilted his head to the side the other man had disappeared and nodded with a little smile. Strangely enough, that reassured Shintarou more than anything else that evening. He grabbed his emergency bag and rushed to catch up with the man.

He found him quickly, since he had stopped to talk in the middle of the street. Or had been stopped, from the look of it: his interlocutor was a short, round man with a big mustache and rough hands. They both heard Shintarou’s footsteps and turned towards him:

-          That’s the doctor, mayor. He says he can help.

The round man beamed:

-          Good! The poor thing is podalic, we need all the help we can! Are you sure he’s really our doctor, Kiyoshi? Look at those shoulders, they don’t make them this built in the capital! Follow me, lads, Tora’s got the rope ready!

Shintarou tailed the big guy, Kiyoshi, again, trying to make sense of the rope comment, but the only answer he could come up with was: barbarians. Before he knew, he had arrived in front of a peripheral dairy farm: the lights were all lit up in the ground floor and they went in a rush. There were lots of people inside, mostly women and some children, but some older men too. A couple of dogs slept under the long, wobbly table and there was a fat chicken dozing off on a wooden chair. They all looked at him weirdly (and it didn’t surprise him, he would have done the same if a stranger had trepassed his private property that late in the night), but at the same time they cheered at Kyoshi and mayor Hyuuga. When the latter pointed at Shintarou, explaining that he was the doctor, they beamed and sighed in relief. The whole exchange lasted a bunch of seconds, actually, because the trio manouvred themselves easily in the house and exited through the back door. Then, they crossed the barnyard and pulled a bewildered Shintarou straight into a run-down shed. Well, it almost made sense, since it was still quite cold and stables were notoriously warmer places, but still…

The torches were lit inside, dangerous as it was, and there were two youths their age crouched down in the hay. An older man with a scary face was already tying a rope with expert moves, while a young woman with short hair that resembled him a little was soothing a cow beside them and arranging buckets. And laid on its side on the hay, in the very middle of the little, square shed, was a huge cow, visibly pregnant bellowing in pain. The small, hinder hooves of the calf were already visible. Realization hit and Shintarou felt ill.

-          What kind of weird kid did you brought, Kiyoshi? Is he gonna faint on the spot?

-          He’s the new doctor. He said he could help!

The cow let out a particularly loud moo. The man with the scary face tied the calf hooves with the rope, tested the knots and the grip on the animal’s legs, and crouched at the cow’s tail. He tossed Shintarou the loose end of the rope and barked at the others:

-          Kiyoshi, on the other side! Junpei and Shun, in front of them. It looks big, it may take several tries. When I tell you to pull, pull.

They shouted an agreement. Shintarou felt suddenly weak at the knees, but didn’t show it.

*

The calf had come out at the fourth pull and it had been, indeed, not breathing. Istinct had kicked in and Shintarou had found himself rushing towards Tora at the calf’s side, taking the initiative and doing his best to revive it. Luckily, the combined effort had worked and the calf, a strong girl, no less, was now bonding with her recovering mother. They were both fine and the men had appreciated Shintarou’s nerve and prompt actions enough to name the newborn “Midori”, in his honour. As they were taking care of the stable, cleaning the afterbirth and brushing blood and sweat away from Betsy, as well as making sure she was not rejecting the calf, the landlady (Shun’s mother) had offered them garlic bread and cheese as a thanks for the help. She easily took things in hand now that the emergency had died down, and sent the whole lot, her son included, to go relax somewhere else. Tora had barked a laugh and invited the youths to the pub for a celebrative drink. He had proudly patted their shoulders until they were sore and ordered them a round of the strongest of Mitobe’s brews.

Shintarou was currently slumped over a square, heavy wooden table, a pint of stout in his hands, pissed, in more way than one. His clothes were soaked in blood and other fluids, he reeked of dirt and he had totally lost track of his whereabouts. Kiyoshi and the other youths were chatting quietly around him.

-          You told me that someone named Betsy was going to have a difficult birth!

Kiyoshi blinked:

-          That’s what happened, no?

Junpei fixed his glasses and shook his head. Shun sighed into his beer.

*

Adrenaline cooled down eventually, but spirits remained high: news of the successful birth had travelled fast, just as coloured rumours about the new doctor. Shintarou was sure every single inhabitant of the village had peeked at the inn’s door at least once to steal a look of him. Some people even came twice. He had shaken more hands than he could count, answered embarassing questions with half-mumbled stutters and collected friendly smacks and pats on the back from every callous fisherman around. Listening to Tora, it had been a success.

Shintarou had almost started to feel safe again when the dreaded question came:

-          So, what brings a brilliant scholar from the capital like you in a place like this?

Shintarou dropped his gaze to his half-finished glass of stout.

*

_Midorima didn’t really remembered his parents. There were things he was sure of, though: his father had been very tall and lean, with a deep and soothing voice – his mother had had vibrant green eyes, a predilection for light coloured dresses and flowery perfumes. They had gotten involved in a carriage accident outside the theatre, one night, and hadn’t survived. Shintarou had been six years old, at the time._

_Lord Akashi had always been a close family friend and an extremely generous soul, so it didn’t surprise anyone when he offered to tutor the orphaned kid and take care of him until he was of age. Shintarou didn’t have other living relatives and was easily persuaded to accept the offer. On the condition that their maid and butler, that he’d grown up with and were what was left of his family, could go with him. Lord Akashi found them a place in his residence in the blink of an eye and allowed Shintarou to bring along his mother’s birds too._

_The first weeks had been hard for the child and though expected, it was a painful process to watch and more often than not, Lord Akashi had found himself at a loss. He was beginning to think he’d made a mistake when his son Seijuro, who was as young as Shintarou, had surprised him (it hadn’t been the first time, but that didn’t make it less formidable). The boys had met a few times and they had seemed to get along well, but in the past days they had barely interacted. Lord Akashi had explained his son that Shintarou’s parents were gone the same way Seijuro’s mother was, and the boy had nodded solemnly and spent the following weeks watching the other boy intently. That particular afternoon, Shintarou had been staring with an empty gaze out of the window in the large living room, right beside the huge cage of his mother’s coloured, chirping nightingales, perched on the windowsill much like a bird himself. Seijuro had stepped in the room quietly and approached the other boy without making a sound. They had spent several minutes sitting together in total silence, until Shintarou had curled a bit in himself and sniffed. He had tried to suppress the small sobs that escaped his lips, in vane. Seijuro had merely scooted closer and latched their tiny fingers together. When the crisis had passed, Shintarou had tried to draw his hand back, embarassed and apologetic, but Seijuro hadn’t let go:_

-          _I was going to see my pony. Do you want to come with me?_

_Shintarou had watched him with wide eyes. Seijuro had continued._

-          _He likes sugar cubes. If the hostler says it’s fine, we can give him some._

_Shintarou had nodded and they had trotted to the stables together._

_*_

_Days became weeks and months and then years and Lord Akashi quickly forgot any thought of possible mistakes. Not only Shintarou had recovered well, he’d literally bloomed in an extremely short time span. The boy had a quick, sharp mind, he was able to keep up with Seijuro’s lessons and showed a natural talent in music. Their teachers were impressed by the boys progresses and the way they kept challenging each other, a genuine competition that came from thirst for knowledge and the thrill of having an equal to share their discoveries with. It wasn’t weird to find them deeply engaged in conversation about the most disparate of topics unti late at night, or hunched over a chessboard for hours after dinner. Seijuro’s aptitude towards strategy made him win every time, but he wouldn’t have asked Shintarou to play so often if he hadn’t found it entertaining at the very least. Shintarou had taught Seijuro some simple melodies at the piano, in their spare time, while Seijuro took him riding whenever he had the chance. All in all, Lord Akashi was very proud of what he saw._

_*_

_Though both precocious and ahead of students their age, they didn’t go to the same university. Seijuro followed his natural aptitude for leadership and honoured his position as the only heir of the family’s estate by orienting his studies towards Economy and Politics. Shintarou stayed true to his analytical, though caring, personality and pursued a brilliant academic career in Medicine._

_It had been the first time in ten years they’d stayed apart and away from home for a long time, but the perpetual exchange of letters made up for the distance a bit. They returned home with a degree in hand during the same summer._

_Shintarou came of age a month later: that morning, after breakfast, Lord Akashi had invited him into his study. Spread out on the laquered mahogany table were many documents. As they waited for the notary to arrive and make things official, Lord Akashi showed Shintarou what exactly his parents had left him and how he’d administered his legacy in the past years. Shintarou had listened closely, and though things had gotten a bit emotional for both of them at the mention of their long lost dear ones, he’d taken everything in with surprising confidence: the house that had belonged to his grandparents, a decent amount of money that had grown considerably under Lord Akashi’s wise administration, all the acts needed to make the transaction legit. The solicitor hadn’t made them wait, and Shintarou had been meticulous and detail-oriented all through the signing, much to Lord Akashi’s enjoyment and pride. When the bureaucrat had left, bringing with him a copy of every document to register, the air in Lord Akashi’s study had felt more tense then before. Shintarou had thanked the man for his custody and apologized for all the trouble he’d caused. Before he could go on, Lord Akashi had got up and put a hand on his head:_

-          _There’s no rush. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want. You are legally an adult in charge of your own possessions, now, but this is still your house, as much as the one on those papers._

_He had glanced at Shintarou from the corner of his eyes and added:_

-          _Don’t even think of repaying presumed debts or anything of the sort, boy. I forbid you. Besides, I wouldn’t have been able to handle Seijuro half this good if I hadn’t had you around all these years. If you look at it that way, I am the one still in debt._

_Shintarou had smiled sheepishly and nodded._

_*_

_For the occasion, as it was custom, Seijuro gifted him silver cufflinks. They were adorned with moonstones and tiny emeralds._

_They both agreed with Lord Akashi’s suggestion to throw a single celebrative ball at the end of the year, once Seijuro had come of age as well._

_*_

_Shintarou spent his first months as an adult making contacts with all the most distinguished physicians of the capital and soaking up their precious knowledge and experience like an eager sponge._

_*_

_At the end of December, Seijuro had been called in his father’s study as well, and thoroughly instructed on what would have been expected of him as the future head of the family. It was nothing they hadn’t already discussed about many times before, but Lord Akashi had always been one for traditions and officiality._

_Seijuro had exited the study with a sigh, arching an eyebrow when he noticed Shintarou leaning on the wall beside the heavy door. He had expected the cufflinks, but had stared at the mounted amethysts and minute jacinths in honest awe._

_*_

_The ball had been classy and elegant, as expected of the debut in society of Lord Akashi’s only son and heir, and Midorima’s brilliant son. Every family from the upper class of the capital had been invited and nobody would have refused such a call. The boys had spent the night equally divided between polite and thoughtful discussions with the businessmen, politicians and thinkers that had attended, light, frivolous chatter with their wives and courtesy dancing with their charming daughters._

_When the last guests had taken their leave, they had retired in Seijuro’s room, which was closest to the stairs. Seijuro, tipsy enough for Shintarou to notice but not enough for the rest of the world to understand, had thrown his jacket onto an armchair and flopped onto his bed unceremoniously. Shintarou had smirked at the uncharacteristical behaviour and picked up the jacket, hanging it properly on the closet door behind him._

_Seijuro spoke to the ceiling, an arm draped over his eyes:_

-          _Thank God it’s over._

-          _Don’t lie. You loved it._

-          _I did. Still, I’m extremely relieved it’s over._

_They chuckled quietly and fell into a companionable silence. Seijuro got up from the bed and walked towards the window, and trailing his fingers up and down the heavy drapes._

-          _Somewhen, durign the night, I’ve danced with my future wife. You, too._

-          _I am aware of that._

-          _Did you like anyone of them?_

-          _Did you?_

-          _None. Everyone._

-          _Be careful not to tell her that, once you’re married._

-          _I’m serious._

-          _So am I._

_Shintarou had crossed his arms over his chest and was leaning against the wardrobe. When he spoke again, his voice was softer:_

-          _Come away from the window, you’ll get cold._

_Seijuro didn’t hear him:_

-          _They were well raised, mannered, educated, witty ladies. Extremely good-looking and with fashion sense. I have honestly enjoyed the time I spent with them. I remember every face and every name. And that’s all. It doesn’t feel any different from yesterday morning, when I’ve read all their nominatives in the guest list. I’ve never expected anything different and I am not in the position to complain. I am fine with it, but…_

_At that point in their life, Shintarou knew better than leave Seijuro alone with his thoughts when he wasn’t in total control of his mental faculties, so he offered his hand to pull hima way from the window and not only that. Seijuro grabbed his fingers with a light touch and went gladly._

_Their feet almost touched and they froze like that, hands still clasped tightly between their chests. Shintarou shivered and Seijuro parted his lips to speak. A thumb stroke a palm, and the other answered accordingly. Shintarou’s breath itched and Seijuro’s eyes widened just enough for Shintarou to notice._

_They had rarely needed words to communicate, kindred spirits that they were, and that time was no exception: silence was all it could be heard in the room and yet the air was full with the deafening noise of memories that were not meant to resurface, dreams never shared, words never spoken, chances not taken, feelings long denied and a future that just couldn’t be. Seijuro lowered his head until his forehead touched their knuckles. Shintarou mimicked him until he felt the tickling touch of Seijuro’s hair against his nose._

-          _I want to be my father’s heir._

_It was a whisper but it could have been a shout, for the effect it had._

-          _I know._

-          _It’s what I was born for._

_The implications of that sentence were too heavy for Shintarou to answer to._

-          _I know._

_At long last, Seijuro took a deep breath. He took a step backwards with a pained expression, slipping his hand free from the warm cradle that was Shintarou’s palm. They looked at each other again and knew that things were already settled and there was no going back. Seijuro fixed his gaze on Shintarou’s heart:_

-          _I’m sorry._

_Shintarou closed his eyes behind his round lenses and shook his head slowly, struggling not to reach out and touch. Seijuro closed his fist tightly at his sides. Shintarou turned around and fled out of the room and rushed to his own, closing the door swiftly and slumping against it. He slid to the floor and brought his knees to his chest, crossed his arms on top of them and buried his head there. On the other side of the hallway, Seijuro leaned against the heavy wood of his own door, hands and forehead pressed where he’d last seen Shintarou’s body before he’d disappeared in the corridor._

_Neither of them moved until morning._

_*_

_At the first rays of dawn Shintarou, despite the sleepless night, went out and didn’t go back until very late in the evening. Seijuro exited his room for a quick lunch with his father and locked himself in his room for the rest of the day, claiming a migraine._

_The following morning, Shintarou spent very long hours in Lord Akashi’s study. The attendants that passed by overheard fragments of heated discussions, rustling of papers and more than one fist being slammed on the wooden surface of Lord Akashi’s desk. In the end, Shintarou had come out victorious, as it was bound to happen. His face said otherwise._

_Their paths crossed early in the afternoon: Seijuro was coming back from the stables and caught Shintarou picking up his books from the living room. He had simply asked:_

-          _When?_

_And Shintarou’s reply had been little more than a whisper, let out without looking at him:_

-          _As soon as proper arrangements are made. Not later than a week. I’m pressuring for five days._

_Seijuro had nodded, and left._

_*_

_The day of the departure, while the attendants were busy moving Shintarou’s things from his room to the main hall, Seijuro called Shintarou to his room. Shintarou went, because life had taught it that you just didn’t deny a request from Akashi Seijuro._

_The boy had his back at the door again: he was casually dressed and smiled at Shintarou’s formal attire and choice of cufflinks. Without a word, Seijuro picked up a wooden box and offered it to Shintarou. The latter took it and slid the lid open: on the velvety cushion inside the box, was a finely crafted pocket-watch. Silver, by the look of it, elaborately carved with zodiac patterns and brightened by a shower of tiny, shimmering, lucky gemstones. Under it, there was a bill of exchange from Seijuro’s personal account, for an amount of money that Shintarou refused to believe._

-          _I can’t accept this. Honestly, you can’t think I would accept this._

_Seijuro didn’t turn around._

-          _I had it made for your last birthday. At the last moment, I thought it could be too much and too obvious, so I settled for the cufflinks. It’s a token of my affection for my dearest friend, on the day of his departure. Please, accept it._

_Shintarou gritted his teeth._

-          _I’m not speaking of the watch!_

_Seijuro whirled around and his eyes flashed red._

-          _You have donated your own house to the Music School. You are leaving your house, your family, your friends. You are giving up your career, your mentors, the future you were working so hard for. And the only reason it is_ you _the one undergoing all this is that_ I _am the one born in this household. I am as responsible for this as you are, and yet here I am, watching you taking all the rough edge of it._

_Shintarou closed his mouth._

-          _About a third of that amount is enough to get you a reasonably comfortable residence: large enough for you to have plenty of space for your researches, a couple of bunk beds for patients, a family. Perhaps even a small strip of land for you to grow you’re vegetables, in that area. Anyone who asks for more is a fraud, don’t let them fool you._

_Shintarou smiled a little._

-          _I won’t._

_Seijuro looked straightly at him:_

-          _Let me pay for my fair share of blame, Shintarou. There is nothing else I can do, right now._

_Shintarou lifted his gaze. He blamed the bright light that came from the window, because Seijuro’s expression had seemed pained, for a moment._

-          _Please, Shintarou._

_He nodded:_

-          _Very well. Thank you._

_He took a deep breath:_

-          _Farewell._

_Seijuro hung his head with a smile and Shintarou left his room, his house, his life._

_*_

_Lord Akashi found his son at the window, eyes fixed on the carriage that was currently exiting their main gate._

-          _Care to tell me what happened between you two to require such drastic measures?_

_Seijuro had arched an eyebrow, without moving his gaze:_

-          _Do not trouble yourself with your sons’ foolishness, Father. We love each other. Rest assured that it’s nothing time won’t heal._

_It was a safe phrasing for a house whose walls had ears everywhere, but from the shift in Lord Akashi’s expression, Seijurou knew his father had indeed understood much more than he’d given him credit for._

_Eyes hard as steel, Lord Akashi had given a curt, final nod and turned loomingly towards his son before leaving the room:_

-          _I expect nothing less._

*

Midorima looked up from his glass:

-          I am extremely interested in the medical properties of a peculiar family of sea plants. They seem to come in great variety in this area. That, and I was told you could use a doctor.

He excused himself, then, claiming exhaustion. It wasn’t even a lie. The innkeeper gave him the key to his room and he moved towards the stairs. Before that, though, he gestured for Kiyoshi to come closer:

-          As soon as I’ve settled down, come visit me. Perhaps I can do something for your knee.

Kiyoshi regarded him somberly, and nodded.


	3. Chapter 03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shintarou tries to cope, Kazunari sunbathes and paths start to cross.

The house was, indeed, spacious.

A man from the city had had it built as a second house, somewhere to spend his summers at, but health problems prevented him from moving, in the end. After his death, his sons had put the property on sale.

The villagers had put all of their money together and bought it jointly. They used it mostly as a storage place, though more than once they’d repaired a boat in there and the uncultivated land around the building had been properly fenced, so that animals could roam around safely: it had allowed several families that didn’t have enough space for livestock to keep some.

It was one of the last houses of the village, and right after that began the sparse woods. Every now and then a fox came out to grab a chicken or two, but there weren’t larger predators to fear and they had built, in time, more secure shelters for their animals.

Despite the state of disarray, the inside looked large: the ground floor consisted in a single, wide room with a bug fireplace, a narrow staircase lead to a livable attic, while a wooden trap-door granted access to a small, damp basement.

There was a water pump near the courtyard and a latrine right behind the building.

*

The mayor, who should have worked as a barber, but seemed pretty loose with his schedule, had showed it to Shintarou as soon as the latter had asked for a place to live in.

He could reside at the inn for as long as he wanted, the room he had rented was cheap, but Shintarou needed a place to exercise his profession properly and a damp room that smelt of mold, so small that he had to keep his trunks piled, just couldn’t do. Building a new house would have cost too much and, most of all, it would have taken far too much time for Shintarou’s liking. He needed four walls and a roof on his head, thoughts of making himself a home discarded in advance. Hence, mayor Hyuuga had joined him for breakfast one morning and literally kidnapped him with the excuse to show him around.

The village didn’t have a town hall, he explained, because they were so few that it wasn’t needed: the local administration and all the contacts with the rest of the world could be managed by a single office, that he pointed out. It had a quite big bell hung beside the door (‘to call everyone when there’s some important news or an emergency’) and a large wooden sign with a white envelope painted on it, because, apparently, that was also the post office. And, occasionally, usually when there was a planned trip to the nearest city for a market, it worked as a bank post as well. Izuki Shun, Betsy’s owner, ran the whole thing as smoothly as his father had done before him.

The inn where Shintarou dwelled at the moment was right in front of Izuki’s office and it had belonged to the Mitobes for generations. An illness had weakened the landlady, already a widow, so much that the management of the pub was all on her firstborn Rinnosuke’s shoulders: all his brothers and sisters, no matter how little they were, helped him in every task, from cooking to fetching ingredients to taking care of their mother, so in the end, they were fine.

The Koganeis ran the emporium on the other side of the square, always well supplied thanks, mostly, to their youngest son Shinji, an energic youth that travelled to the city with his handcart even twice a week, if it was necessary, to stock up goods and look for the rarest items.

The priest came for the weekly rites and always left as quickly as possible, but the little church was always open for those who needed a pray or a bit of comfort, because the Teppeis, an old couple and Kiyoshi’s grandparents, took care of it every day: too frail, at their age, to do any kind of heavy work. Kiyoshi’s knee, hurt during a day of particularly rough seas, when gathering the boats had been hard and very dangerous, didn’t call for fatigue, either, but there was nobody else that could provide for the three of them, so he endured. Though the villagers helped whenever they could.

They were all fishermen, all in all: Tora had retired and opened his shop after his wife’s death, to better provide for his daughter, a strong, young lady that ruled boys her age with an iron fist (‘bless her, my son is totally smitten with her no matter how strongly he denies it’) and always did her best to give a hand whenever she could, no matter the task. He himself had left the boat to Junpei after a stroke (‘Thank God there was a doctor around, at the time’).

They were all used to deal with ordinary injuries and drowning men, there were also comfortable with herbs and infusions to ease cramps and lower fevers, but experience and little remedies like those weren’t always enough.

Mayor Hyuuga had showed Shintarou the village in its entirety: the ripid path they used every day to go up and down the cliff, the peculiar form of the bay, full of caves and sheltered alcoves (in one of them they’s built the pier, to protect the boats in case of storms), the best areas to catch which fish or to get some shellfish easily. They walked around the central square again, towards the disastrous road that disappeared between the trees and lead north, back to the lonely platform in the woods. The west side of the village was where most of the people lived, except for those who, like Tora, or the Mitobes, resided above their shops: the houses were not many but, though reasonably close to one another, there were small fields and vegetable gardens and pastures between them, filling the space. Mayor Hyuuga pointed out the Tsuchida’s, Furihata’s, Fukuda’s and Kawahara’s, while the one at the end of the road was the Izuki’s. From that angle, Betsy’s stable could be seen clearly. Since their main activity was fishing, and the land was hard, not extremely fertile, they didn’t waste many energies in agriculture, but it was a pity not to do make the most out of what little they had. For some of them, that meant letting their animals roam free, for others it translated in sacks of flour to store up. It was common for them to help each other out with the hard work and so it was sharing the fruits of their labour at the end of the day.

The east side of the village was smaller, in comparison. There lived the Teppeis and there, a bit distant from their tiny house, was the house mayor Hyuuga had wanted to show Shintarou from the beginning: it was the only empty place around, so as long as the doctor didn’t want to share a floor with someone else, he was bound to accept it. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though. Practically speaking, the house was a total disaster: there was decades worth of dirt inside, and Shintarou was pretty sure he’d seen a rat bigger than his hand walking on the mantelpiece; one of the windows was broken and rain had soaked the floor right under it, so much that weeds had sprouted; spiderwebs thicker than his hair hung from the ceiling in white curtains, trapping moths longer than an inch. Shintarou tried to be positive and picture himself drying herbs in that place, chopping and mixing the mas he’d learned not too long before, storing them and filling cabinets with his labelled jars. He tried to notice how good it was that he could have so much space to work: enough to have a long table, enough to put in a couple of bunk beds, if he found the mattresses… it was hard to keep the frustration at bay when all he could reallt think of was the last hospital he’d worked at: rows of beds with fresh, clean sheets, an endless supply of pharmaceuticals and aseptic instruments especially designed to do their jobs at best, chemical labs to reserach into, new techniques to learn everyday, plants and seeds from every corner of the globe, ready to be studied and transformed in a weapon to save someone…

He reminded himself that he didn’t really had a choice, so Shintarou interrupted mayor Hyuuga enthusiastic chatter to ask, through gritted teeth, what was the price of that lot. With the promise of collective help to clean up the place, put some furniture together and re-arrange the animals that currently pastured in what would have soon be his land, the money requested amounted at exactly a third of what Seijuro had written in his bill of exchange.

With a sickness in his stomach that had very little to do with the smell and dirt, Shintarou admitted it had to be fate.

*

Shintarou wasn’t sure how exactly the cleaning had turned into a party, but there he was, standing in front of his soon to be house, surrounded by every inhabitant of the village, it seemed, at lunch time, with a roasted fish on a stick in his hand. It tasted delicious, but still.

The night after he’d signed the contract and written a bill of exchange of his own, the mayor had rung the bell and gathered everyone at the inn to share the good news. Shintarou had assisted, horror-stricken and green from embarassment, as they celebrated the considerable amount of money he’d just deposited in their pockets and animatedly discussed about what ‘their doctor’ could need for the house, offered spare tools, old pieces of furniture and linen for him to take. Shintarou had tried, once, to protest (not hiding his annoyance at all) and to point out that he was more than able (and intentional) to purchase everything he needed, that their meddling was unnecessary and unwelcomed, but Kiyoshi’s Gran had studied him from head to toe in the uncomfortable silence that had followed his outburst and said to her husband:

-          He doesn’t look the fishing type, do we still have those old lobster pots stashed somewhere?

The chatter had started anew and Shintarou had given up. The following Sunday, everyone had gathered at his front door with plenty of brushes, food and old items to gift him.

*

These strangers were overwhelming, annoying, noisy, intrusive, ill-mannered and rude, but Shintarou, after several hours, had to admit that there was something soothing in all of it: dealing with so many people at once, worrying about primal things like his living place, his job, his source of food, giving a structure to his new, scaring life (at least in the short term), exhausting himself with physical labour he was so unused to, all of that helped him to keep his thoughts away from paved streets, pipes, fine blankets… quiet conversations, cups of flavoured tea, elegant gestures, composed laughs. Small hands… pale skin… red hair…

A hand slammed between his shoulders and he chocked on the small fish. Shintarou turned to yell at whoever had hit him and found himself face to face with the biggest, fattest, dead rats he’d ever seen. Koganei Shinji beamed at him in a very feline fashion from behind them, eyes shimmering in satisfaction:

-          I’ve taken care of the nests as well! Call me if they come back!

A long, infuriated tirade on the dangers of coming in touch with mice ant the miriade od deadly, horrible bacteria the carried was just what his battered heart needed to slow down its bleeding.

*

It took Shintarou several days to settle down properly. Or in a way that he deemed acceptable. The floor was reasonably clean and the fireplace worked. He had plenty of wood stashed both in a box beside the mantelpiece and in ahuge pile behind the house, courtesy of the men’s work that infamous Sunday. Of that, he was very grateful: January was a cruel month in terms of cold, though mayor Hyuuga had said they were extremely lucky to have avoided snow so far. Shintarou shuddered at the thought: huddled in a blanket (or three) of raw wool, it was very hard not to miss the comforts he’d grown up with.

Most of the bookshelves and cabinets lined on the walls had already been in the house and after a thorough examination he’d decided to keep them: they were ugly and wobbly and he’d put more than one slice of wood undr their feet to steady them, but they were still strong and stable enough to support his many volumes and all his jars. The mismatched chairs, instead, had turned out to be useless (Junpei’s attempt to sit on one of them, and his consequent, spectacular falla s the rotten wood crumbled under his weight, had moved RIko to tears for excess of laughter), but Rinnosuke had kindly offered him four of his oldest ones, as well as a spare, heavy table that didn’t fit in the inn anymore.

Putting together some wool had been comparatively easy for the whole community and in the blink of an eye he’d been gifted a warm mattress for the winter, with the warning to let it catch fresh air once the air warmed up and switch it with one made of corn leaves in summer.

Useful tools had been scattered all over the place: they were old and battered (the axe didn’t really cut anymore and the head of hoe slipped off with awful timing, but he’d picked them up anyway and the men had allowed him to claim the mas his own, since everyone already had their fair share of them and they didn’t look extremely valuable anyway.

Given the season, he couldn’t plant anything in the courtyard, not that he had much intention to do so in the first place, so Shintarou had told the breeders that since he had no need for all that space, their animals (chickens, mostly, and several goats if he’d looked right and maybe even a donkey or two) could stay where they were, welcomed as long as he didn’t have to take care of them. It was more or less the same was for the smoked meat and dry fish that was kept in the upper floor: he had no plans for that attic and he didn’t have anything to move upstairs, so it seemed only fair to allow these kind people to keep using their storage room, if they needed it. And kind they were, because as soon as Shintarou had proposed it, they’d been so touched and moved by his generosity that they’d take nit by heart to repay the debt somehow: every family in the village took something from their cupboards and when everyone had delivered their gift of thanks, Shintarou had known he wouldn’t have gone hungry at all, that winter.

*

It was apathy, more than generosity, to move him, and for the whole cold season his life was a sequence of mechanical gestures: he stayed alive, learned, little by little, what it meant to tend for himself in the most primal way, helped the locals to reign their animals when he felt like it. Every now and then, someone knocked at his door for a bad cold, a fall, a strained muscle, an acute back ache, a chronic arthritis… Shintarou didn’t even have to consult his books to mix herbs, apply warm stones and ointments, give effective rubs and syrups. He made a mental note to replenish his pharmaceutical stock in spring, as well as his brews. Even with the money they’d made from the sale of the house (and despite their inclination to share the few they had) they were too poor to pay him, especially in that season, where they mostly went on with the savings from summer, and Shintarou had a bit of trouble with charging people that had helped him so eagerly to settle down: in the end, he accepted whatever they were willing and able to give him, and a loaf of bread with some eggs felt more than adequate a compensation for a round of stitches, even more so when the first snow finally came and he willingly locked himself in the house.

Small interventions apart, Shintarou spent the winter in the little place he’d managed to cut for himself, without a real goal to strieve to, waiting for time to pass and ease his mind, heal his broken heart and, why not, give him the strenght to get used to such a desolating place. He tried to convince himself that things would have gone better, that there were, indeed, researches for him to do about some peculiar plants, that not everything was lost and that he definitely wasn’t going to waste himself in a rat-hole, only to die hurt and alone and forgotten. It was also hard to lick his wounds properly, when he kept reminding himself that it had been his own choice to take such drastic measures and, thus, he hardly had the right to complain… Fully aware of his masochistic tendencies, he often caught himself sleeping with his precious pocket watch in a tight grip, silver chain loosely wrapped around his wrist, palm and fingers.

If he tried to wash his sorrow away with tears, nobody was witness.

*

Spring came slowly, but steadily, and at one point it couldn’t be ignored anymore.

Perhaps Shintarou’s grief had run its course, or perhaps there was something ineherently soothing in sunny days and gree, tender buds, buto ne day he woke up at the break of dawn, looked out of the window and his eyes were caught by the glittering surface of the quiet sea. It was a day of clear, blue sky and dim ray of lights entered the room, shining over the half-empty jars on his shelves. The pharmaceuticals needed a trip to the city to be restocked, but he wasn’t ready for that yet and, besides, there was still a reasonable amount of everything. He was running out of _achillea vulneraria_ and _scolopendrium_ , among the other things, and the days had be warm for some time, perhaps he could find some freshly bloomed _viola_ and _veronica_ , but most of all, he needed to have a serious look at the land around his house and find a proper place to plant his _anisum_ and _crocum_ , not to mention the miraculous _harpagpohitum_ he’d obtained recently and couldn’t wait to test…

Shintarou threw on some practical clothes, washed his face with the ice-cold water he’d collected the night before, ate some bread with cheese and packed more (throwing in a slice of dry meat and a flask of water), grabbed a large basket, his herbal handbook and dashed out of the house, locking the door.

Riko was already on the way towards the chicken-house, a small basket of her own tucked under her arm and a bucket in her left hand. They bid each other good morning and before Shintarou could disappear between the woods, she had called for him:

-          Be careful with the cliff! And keep your eyes on the sea all the time or you’ll get lost!

He nodded in understanding and took the path in front of him.

*

Kazunari was bored. That winter had been plain, without huge stoms or peculiar happenings and though, on one hand, that had been a lucky circumstance for his humans, on the other it had left him restless and annoyed. The water was cold, there were fewer fish around and the sea had a gloomy, grey colour all the time. Travelling had been useless: he wasn’t in the mood for long journeys (hadn’t been in a while) and distance was necessary for a perceivable change of setting. Thus, he’d slept most of the time, waking up to hunt some food and store some shellfish away. On the days he’d felt particularly active, he’d tried to make some new weapons out of the things human lost all the time from their boats. The blades did wonders, but they never lasted long and it was hard to find one hcould handle properly…

That particular day, though, Kazunari didn’t feel like crafting tools. He’d been jolted awake by a peculiar and annoying crab: the grumpy, little thing had taken a liking into his fins and at the most unexpected times it would try to catch them with his not so tiny pins. It was almost endearing, if not for the fact that more often than not it ended up pinching through Kazunari’s flesh in a rather painful way. Tails were sensitive. His bad mood dissipated quickly, though, because the moment Kazunari looked at the surface of the water, he saw something he had missed for far too long: the sun.

He wasted no time and stretched himself, rolled a bit on the sand and through the weeds to clean up, gulped down a couple of ostrichs and headed towards his favourite spot.

The coast at the east of the village formed a peculiar recess: the cliff was less high there and the rocks curled a little in themselves, shaping a little, round bight that was usually referred to, by the locals, as ‘The Pond’. A high reef partially shielded it from view and made it unaccessible from the sea. The rocky shore could be reached through a narrow path that came from the woods: it was often subjected to slides and extremely dangerous, so the villagers prefered to avoid it. The Pond was a fascinating, beautiful spot, buti t wasn’t worth their necks.

Kazunari obviously didn’t have such problems. Below the surface of the water, there was some space between two of the rocks: weeds floated in front of the slim passage, but Kazunari was small enough to pass easily and reach that private corner of paradise. Nobody disturbed him there, there was no risk to be seen as he lazed on the flat rocks near the beach and if someone got close from the forest’s side, Kazunari could usually hear them in time and disappear before they spotted him. He still hadn’t forgotten his last experience with humans and wasn’t extremely eager to interact again with them. Since the last flood, several autumns before, nobody had dared to slide down the cliff, and vegetation made it even harder to peek.

Kazunari spinned his tail, grinning, slid through the opening with practiced ease and reached The Pond.

*

Shintarou had been warned about The Pond and its dangerous path, but he couldn’t help himself. The morning hadn’t been extremely productive: though his basket was full, he had yet to found the herbs he needed the most and the fruitless search was off-putting to say the least. Keeping the sea in his field of vision (because despite his pretences, he did not want to end up lost in a forest he didn’t know), he walked west, in the general direction of his house and the rest of the village and noticed for the second time that morning a weirdly shaped rock right beside a fallen tree. According to mayor Hyuuga’s indications, the head of the dangerous path should have been in their proximity. Shintarou got closer, because he had nothing better to do with his time and yes, he was also a little curious. The narrow track wasn’t easy to spot among the bushes and it often disappeared under some fallen rocks and earth, but Shintarou could make out the shape of the little bay at the bottom of the cliff and see the grey shore and… wait.

_Was that aconitus?_

It looked a bit like _cicerbita_ , it was hard to tell them apart at that stage of growth and his eyesight had never been the best… but was it even possible? There was no way either of those herbs could have spontaneously grown in such a habitat, but what if someone had brought the seeds? What if they’d been strong enough to defy the common rules of their species? What if they could reproduce?

He _had to_ know.

Such recklessness was extremely out of character for him, but the thirst for knowledge had always blinded him (and not only in a metaphorical way) and brought out his impulsiveness (it was a paradox that Seijuro used to found extremely interesting and terribly endearing, not that it mattered, of course); Shintarou tied his square handkerchief to the fallen tree and then tried to approach the track: if he kept close to the wall and used his hands well, it could work. He wore his thick, protective gloves and went downwards.

Ten minutes later, he was at the bottom, crouched behind some bushes, examining what could only be aconitus with a look of pure wonder on his face (wasn’t it marvelous? Wasn’t it a treasure?), trying to decide if it would have been safe to uproot one of the plants and bring it back to his garden to make it reproduce there. It was a very hazardous option, but so it would have been going down there in autumn to collect the tubers… though if the operation failed, he would have lost both the tubers in autumn and the leaves in summer…

*

Kazunari swam around the bay for a while, twirling playfully around his favourite rock, the one in the middle of The Pond, and with a strong push of his tail he hosted himself up from the water. The surface of that particular rock was smooth and wide, large enough for him to lay on it comfortably: it was the main reason he loved the place so much. He brought his arms above his head, yawned loudly and looked at the blue sky, warmth spreading through him like a balm. Kazunari laid down on his back with a satisfied sigh, stretching his long, thick tail in the meantime: waves lapped at his fins and fingers gently and the rhythmic splashing of the calm waters lulled him to sleep in barely no time.

*

Shintarou had made up his mind and resigned himself to collect the seeds once they were ready, instead of uprooting the plant. He stood up with a huff and rolled his tired shoulders. The shining surface of The Pond caught his eyes once more and he looked at the sea in front of him for the first time since he’d hid behind the bushes an hour before.

The shout died in his throat.

A man was lying on the rocks. A youth his age, by the looks of it.

Except that it wasn’t a man, it couldn’t be a man, because where his legs should have been there was, instead (and it didn’t make sense) a thick, heavy, long tail that could have belonged to a fish. A very large fish. A fish Shintarou had never seen, anyway, because the scales he was staring at were a shining a bright orange in the sunlight, though some of them were black, drawing wild patterns through the whole lenght of the organ… Shintarou gaped at the majestic, triangular caudal fin and its iridiscent, lighter tissue: he could almost look through it and at its tips some tears were visible… the creature looked asleep and Shintarou, unable to utter a single sound, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the palmed hands, the vibrant gills, the coarse black hair, the rise and fall of that thin chest, the unconscious movements of that huge tail, the unmistakingly human, unmistakingly handsome face…

*

Kazunari felt observed, all of a sudden, and blinked his eyes open. He groggily sat up and looked around.

He froze.

There was a human on the shore, staring straight at him with wide, terrified eyes and a stunned expression on his face, lips slightly parted. The sight itself might have been comical, if Kazunari hadn’t felt so mad at himself for being so careless and stupid. Not only he had allowed a human to catch him by surprise, Kazunari had also lost the chance to disappear as soon as he had noticed, staring back with equal stupor and thus confirming the man that yes, he was, indeed, real, and not a trick of the light.

*

The creature sat up and Shintarou gasped, stepping back. He expected a yell, but his voice didn’t came out. Instead, he kept looking at the living being without blinking: its colourful appendage wiggled a little, near the water, while the creature stared right back at him with icy blue eyes and a sly grin on its definitely human face. It was creepy, if not downright terrifying, because the thing looked sentient at the very least.

*

Kazunari didn’t recognize the man. He would have remembered that height, that curious hair colour, the vibrant green of those eyes, the spicy scent that clang to those clothes, the long hands… it had been so long since his last close encounter with a human, that Kazunari just sat there, back straight, incapable of avert his gaze, transfixed while he let himself be studied, ogling the man in front of him with the same, burning intensity. Because there was something absolutely compelling about those creatures, a magnetic pull around them that Kazunari had never been able to resist.

*

The thing waved at him and Shintarou’s mind blacked out in sheer panic.

*

The look of terror the human sported was at the same time hilarious and unsettling. Kazunari had been on his own for so long after Makoto that he’d missed the fun of interaction a lot, but causing fear in his current interlocutor made him feel rejected and brought up painful memories.

The man looked like he was rooted on the spot, so Kazunari waved again, smile bordering on desperate.

*

Then, because he was apparently out of his mind and obviously not because the thing looked like it was honestly trying to be friendly, Shintarou lifted his own, right hand. The creature’s face shone.

-          Doctor!!! Are you down there?! It’s so dangerous, are you alright?!

*

Kazunari flinched. He looked, scared, towards the source of the voice, then back at the human that had mimicked his actions.

-          Doctor!!!

*

Shintarou turned towards the cliff and glanced at the distressed creature out of the corner of his eye.

-          Yes, I’m here! I’m fine.

-          Good! Come up! We think Mitobe’s youngest may have sprained her anlke, can you have a look?!

Still studying the creature, that had perched itself on the rock as soon as it had heard his voice, Shintarou gathered his things and answered:

-          Stay there. I’m coming.

*

Kazunari brought a hand up and flexed his fingers, except for the index one. Making sure the human was still watching him, he touched it his lips and nose in a gesture he’d learned from Daiki years before and slid in the water without a sound, right before Riko’s brown head came into view and her eyes scanned the bay for the man. One human, he could handle, but two were too much for him in his current state fo mind.

From below the surface, he watched as the man choked at his gesture and collected himself as much as he could before facing the girl.

*

Shintarou didn’t know why he’d complied with the creature’s request. He didn’t even know how something like that could know the human gesture for ‘silence’ and use it deliberately. As if it meant to convey that exact message. Perhaps he’d just misunderstood and it actually didn’t mean anything. Perhaps he’d allucinated and nothing had happened. Perhaps the aconitus had intoxicated him and he was seeing things that weren’t real. Perhaps he was finally going mad, period.

Either way, it felt pointless to scare Riko with his crazy claims, especially when she was scolding him for his inconsiderate decision to go down The Pond on his own.

He barely muttered a word all the way back to the village and he barely managed to compose himself enough to tend to Mitobe’s little sister properly. When he locked himself in, that night, he was still in a state of shock and for hours all he did was lying on his back on the mattress, eyes wide at the ceiling.

A _merman_. He’d seen a _merman_. A _merman_ had asked him to keep its secret.

*

Kazunari spent the rest of the day hiding, waiting for humans to come and check The Pond, scan the whole bay looking for him. They never came. He swam to the main beach and listened to their conversations, all of them. ‘Doctor’ was named many times, andd so was The Pond, but nobody mentioned a mermaid, a fish-like creature, a monster, anything.

It was as if Doctor had really listened to him.

Kazunari was bewildered, before recalling that Makoto had done the very same, at first.

But he thought of Doctor’s face again, and was very surprised to discover that it reminded him much more of Satsuki, than Makoto.

_Curious_ , indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typos apart, the plants are real.


	4. Chapter 04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- ...Shin-chan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for the late update: real life has kept me busy this week.  
> Please, forgive and bear with me: I'll try as hard as I can to mantain the one-chapter-for-week schedule, but I can't promise anything. The hiatus should never go beyond the two weeks, though.
> 
> Also, rest assured that the story is planned, so there's going to be an end, and we'll get there steadily.

            - Eh? Legends?

            - More like, local stories. Folktales. It was common for citizens of the capital to spend the summer at the sea and to come back with several fables they heard from the locals. I am aware that most of them were very likely made up on the spot for the sake of keeping tourists interested, but I was curious, nevertheless. Doesn’t this village have its fair share of… I don’t know: …ghost ships? …sea monsters? …mermaids?

The inn was crowded at that hour. It was right after dinner: the days were starting to get longer and the sun had barely started to set. Shintarou had broken his self-imposed hermitage and joined the fishermen for a drink. It wasn’t an act of sociability, but a mere necessity: it had been four days since his weird encounter with the creature and Shintarou was gradually but steadily losing his mind. He’d searched all his books for hints of the existence of merpeople, but so far, he had found only a bunch of romantic poems and a couple of fantasy illustrations, on the subject. The half-human, half-fish beings described and portrayed were females, though, and mostly known for their beautiful, captivating, singing voices: a terrifying weapon that usually lured sailors to their horrible death. But the one Shintarou had met was definitely male in appereance and it had been completely silent, so the doctor threw away that line of thought and started anew. He tried, then, to scientifically prove the fact that such a creature could exist, in the first place and filled a whole notebook with rough sketches, notes about the biology of fish, human anatomy and several hypotesis on the way they could connect in a natural, functional, evoluted body. Every thesis seemed much more improbable and absurd than the former. In the end, his last resort was asking the villagers for information: if there was, indeed, a merman in their bay, one that was friendly enough to let itself be seen by a human, actually, wouldn’t they have noticed? They were ususally able to tell if a new dolphin had joined the usual shoal, or if a different shark had entered their territory, sure they would have known about it...

Shintarou wasn’t so eager to make a fool of himself in case they didn’t, though. That was something that happened far too often with these people. So he tried to be vague, at first, and it seemed to work:

\- We had the Death Bell, once. Remember that, Hyuuga?

\- Aye! “Whoever hears the ring is a dead man!” …and then we found out that it was ol’ Teppei buoyer: he moved it around to remember the best fishing spots and strapped that damn blue bell on top of it “to find it in the mist and make it merrier”, he said! You cost each of us ten years, you ol’ shrimp!

Teppei laughed out loudly, followed by almost everyone.

\- And there was that time they said the Leviathan had risen.

\- Leviathan my arse!

\- Still the biggest shark I’ve ever seen. That fucking devil knew how to upturn boats! Swallowed poor Ishida whole, may his poor soul rest in peace.

\- We were lucky to catch it in the end.

\- Yeah. Weird day, that was. That beast totally ignored our baits, but swam straight into the trap. I swear it looked like he was chasing something that deliberately lured it in… who knows. Lucky day, indeed.

Midorima listened with a bit of disappointment. Even tales were too much for these people.

\- Ehi! Wasn’t there a witch living here, like, last century?

\- The one with the pink hair living by the sea? That wasn’t a witch, that was Momo’s daughter and your great-grandmother, you dumbass!

\- Didn’t they say she had the devil as a lover? A mysterious man she met everyday but nobody ever saw, because he vanished in the sea?

\- You know the times, Koga! Poor girl probably had a thing with one of the boys, and in the end they made this story up…

\- She married that rascal in the end, right?

\- Yeah, she was already compromised and nobody wanted her. Always blessed with a lot of fish, loads of lobsters, huge salmons: that’s why they said she was a witch! Fornicated with the devil’s spawn and compensated that way…

\- Ah! If I could take all that fish everyday, I’f fornicate with the devil myself!

Shintarou had had enough. He got up, bid everyone goodnight, tossed a coin in Rinnosuke’s direction for the untouched pint of beer on his table and went home.

*

The second time he met the creature was very much like the first one and just as awkward and weird. Shintarou was standing in the water, trousers carefully rolled up to his kneew, a bucket full of sea weeds in his arms. His eyes had caught a glimpse of orange and right after that the black head of the creature had peeked from behind a far away rock. Shintarou had shouted that time and rushed out of the water, because no matter how tame the thing looked, he didn’t feel safe without some solid land between them. The creature had looked a bit disappointed at his actions (was it pouting?) buti t hadn’t fled. They stayed like that for a while, studying each other much like they’d done the first time until, again, the creature waved coily. Shintarou waved back unconsciously once again and the creature beamed, wiggling its tail enthusiastically. Shintarou was buffled, and though aware that it could all have been a very well orchestrated trap, he had to admit that the creature made a cute picture, genuinely excited like that. Without noticing, he chuckled quietly at the image. The creature braced itself onto the rock and breathed in before opening his mouth, as if it meant to speak, but quickly ducked under the water as a boat came in their field of view and some of the fishermen returned from their daily outing. Shintarou couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed.

*

It was unbelievable how the creature seemed to know precisely where Shintarou was, all the time. It had freaked him out at first and bothered him in the following days, but once the encounters had become an almost normal, if not frequent, occurence, Shintarou discovered he didn’t mind. With the passing of weeks, curiosity had started to win over fear, so much that he almost looked forward to the creature’s friendly wavings. The idea that he could have been a predator looking for human preys never left Shintarou, but the fact that no boat or villager had ever been bothered by it was a strong deterrent. The creature could easily upturn a small boat with its thick tail, and grabbing a swimming man to drown him would have been easier than talking about it, for such a being. And still, it never had. The village had no recordings of mysterious deaths or disappereances, nothing that could be connected to the presence of a clever predator in the bay. Perhaps the creature had reached the bay only recently, but why would it be so friendly with a human, then? And why him alone? Questions multiplied day after day in Shintarou’s head but no answers came, so in the end the doctor did what he’d learned to do in these cases: he took a deep breath, metaphorically stepped back and observed.

By the end of the summer, whenever he went to work near the water, Shintarou had learned to look around before settling down and attend to his business, nodding in the creature’s direction as soon as it showed itself, waving cheerfully. The happy, splashing sounds that followed his acknowledgement were …companionable, at least.

*

The human was an open book and Kazunari loved every single one of his pages.

Doctor was weird, but in an endearing, almost cute way. He’d looked menacing at first, with the impressive height and the perpetual scowl on his face, but it was all gone the moment he lost his composure: making that happen had quickly become one of Kazunari’s favourite games.

It had been easy, at first: Kazunari just had to make an appearance and Doctor would jump in surprise, mouth open and eyes wide, and gasp loudly. He’d pale in fear at first, breathe heavily for some seconds and then squint his eyes at the still Kazunari and he wouldn’t move until he was sure there was no danger in doing so. By the end of the summer, he wouldn’t be startled anymore and merely arched a haughty eyebrow at Kazunari with a little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Kazunari couldn’t help grinning like crazy, those times.

Doctor rarely smiled, that was a given, but he was far from expressionless. Everytime Kazunari spotted him from the waters, he wore a haunted, slightly sad face that didn’t suit him very much. When he tended to his plants, however, he would frown in concentration, teeth nibbling softly on his lower lip that always ended up redder and swollen, eyes sparkling in interest. The tangible eagerness in his gestures as he rummaged through the bushes, the deep focus as he carefully picked leaf after leaf over this branch and that other one, the inappreciable, satisfied little smile as he twirled a delicate flower between those long fingers, the proud chuckle when he caught weird fishes. The worry carved in all his features (mouth set in a straight line, pale incarnation, the tiniest baring of teeth at bad news) whenever something happened among the people that lived in the village and they called for him in a hurry. The wonder in his gaze when his eyes landed on the sea on a particular beautiful day, the way he suddenly looked ten years younger, the bewildered air of marvel of a man that would have never believed to be able to witness such beauty in his life again. Doctor moved around in a way that was extremely different from the villagers’ and, much to Kazunari’s chagrin, resembled Makoto’s a bit, but it lacked Makoto’s casual flicks and poses of disdain, his grimaces and slyness. Doctor stood straight as an arrow, so much that you’d have thought the wind was going to break him in a half, his gestures were measured but neat and precise, curt and straight to the point. Essential, like everything else about him: a man that didn’t waste is time and energy in useless, futile things. And, perhaps, a man that held back. Or was held back. Probably by the very same things that had brought him there in the first place.

Kazunari realized that they hadn’t said a word to each other, yet. Somehow, it didn’t bother him. Watching was fine. Silence was fine. What need did he have for talking, when the human spoke to him in volumes just moving around with his mouth closed? When Doctor seemed fine with letting himself be stared at for hours?

Perhaps words were overrated, after all…

*

It happened at the end of August. Shintarou was at The Ponda gain, checking on the aconitus and making sure it was healthy enough to give him good tubers, when he spotted, on the rocky wall, something that resembled a nest very much. Since being outdoor put him in a good mood, lately, and since he’d never turned down a chance for new discoveries, he left the aconitus, approached the vertical surface, thrilled, and started to climb it. While he carefully advanced, step after step, he felt the creature’s eyes bore into his skull. A well known feeling, at that point.

The nest was there, indeed, a single birdling chirping in hunger and alarm at the sight of the intruder. Fulmarus glacialis, or rissa tridactyla, most likely. It was hard to tell at that stage, and he was not really an expert. Still, what a sight.

The angry mother didn’t waste time: as soon as it saw a possible threat to her nest, she attacked with all its might. Shintarou, lost in his wonder, was caught by surprise and lost his grip on the rock. He rolled down the wall with a yelp: it wasn’t a high fall and his bum took most of the hit. He groaned in pain nevertheless, but another sound caught his ear: the creature was sprawled on its favourite rock again, tail trashing around in earnest, almost out of control, laughing its scales off at Shintarou’s expenses, apparently.

Shintarou forgot what he was talking to and simply lost it:

-          Are you LAUGHING at me!?

The creature howled louder and non of them anticipated what came next:

-          Sorry! Ahah! I’m sorry! You are so funny! Please, do it again! Ahah!

Shintarou froze. The creature’s eyes widened and it clapped its palmed hands to its mouth.

-          You… you can speak?

The creature nodded.

-          You …understand what I’m saying?

It nodded again.

-          You..! …how?! ..,why? I mean …what are you? How did you even… where are you from? No, how old are you?! Oh, geez, wait, I mean-

The creature tilted its head to the side with a confused expression. Then it placed a palm over his chest and said, clearly but with a bit of uncertainty:

-          Kazunari.

Shintarou arched an eyebrow. The creature repeated:

-          Kazunari. My name. Is Kazunari.

Shintarou was speechless. The creature extended its hand towards him and tipped its head again:

-          Doctor?

It seemed happy. Shintarou recoiled.

-          “Doctor”!?

-          Doctor!

Shintarou caught up.

-          No, wait! I am not “Doctor”! Well, I am a doctor, but my name is not “Doctor”!

The creature looked abashed. And vaguely crestfallen. Its voice sounded weak and a bit whiny:

-          …Doctor?

-          It’s “Shintarou”! – he placed his head on his chest like the creature (Kazunari) had done before and went on – Shintarou Midorima.

The creature rolled his lips over the syllabes in silence for a couple of times, the tried to repeat them out loud:

-          Shin…

-          Shintarou Midorima.

-          Shin…ta..

The creature frowned, but then brightened up in an instant:

-          Shin-chan!

-          What? NO!

-          Shin-chan!

-          It’s “Shintarou”! “Shintarou Midorima”! Try “Mi-do-ri-ma”, that’s easier.

-          Mi…do…ri…ma?

-          Yes. Precisely. Good.

-          …Midorima?

-          Very good. That’s my name. I’m Midorima.

-          Shin-chan!

-          No! “Midorima”!

-          But I like “Shin-chan” more!

-          That’s not the point!

-          Hello, Shin-chan!

…was it really all that necessary to argue back, when the thing was so obviously delighted at the sound of his distorted name? Especially considering that he was having a broken conversation with a creature that wasn’t even human i the first place? Shintarou sighed.

-          Hello, Kazunari.

*

The blue shark had come out of nowhere and Kazunari knew he should have known better.

They were well into autumn and the waters were cooling down quicly. Kazunari saw the chance one night, when the moon was at its fullest, and left his nest to hunt squids. It wasn’t really a necessity, more like some sort of craving, and a funny way to pass the time, as well. There were plenty of quids in the low waters he usually lived in, and spotting them on the rocky bottom of the bay was challenging even for his Hawk’s Eye, since they camouflaged almost perfectly: catching the squishy things without getting inked was a tricky, thrilling experience and a very funny game. …and the meat was so delicious that all the effort was rewarded at the first bite. Kazunari definitely loved squids.

He’d been delighted, years before, to discover, in his lonely wanderings around the ocean, that not very far from the bay, well past The Pond, heading east, the waters got very deep all of a sudden and there, on the sandy bottom of the sea, hundreds of squids would reunite to reproduce. Since that first time, whenever the mating season came, Kazunari would leave the bay and go have fun. Most of the times, he came back thoroughly soiled, bringing back a sachet full of preys, some stock for the upcoming winter, but since he’d settled down in the bay, the trip had become more a beloved tradition than a necessity.

That particular year, he had yet another reason to look forwardto his little escapade: he wanted to bring some cuttlefish back to Shin-chan. The human had had an almost perpetual frown on his face since the very first time Kazunari had seen him, a hard expression that very rarely went away: it had got better in time, but there were long periods of time in which not even Kazunari’s wavings, splashes and silly tricks could make him smile, snort, or even roll his eyes. Kazunari intended to fix that, and he was sure squids were the right way to do so. Thus, the night before Shin-chan’s weekly descendance at The Pond, Kazunari left at the darkest hour, when the squids were more lively and vivacious, and swam fast towards his destination with the clear goal of capturing the biggest, fastes, tastiest squid of his life.

*

Thinking abouti it, later, he should have paid more attention to his instincts. As he moved in the silent, èitch black waters, his senses were tingling. A brief scan of his surroundings reassured him that there wasn’t any immediate danger at close distance, but the feeling of uneasiness didn’t really go away. Kazunari blamed the lack of vision, so unusual for him, and shrugged it off: even in those awful conditions, his eyes were far sharper than everybody else’s, a featue he took great pride in; an average merman, in his place, would have felt thrice as helpless: with that in mind, Kazunari shook his head to clear his thoughts and went on towards his destination. Darkness (blindness) still unsettled him, no matter how old he was.

The dive was chilling, too. Shivers ran all through Kazunari’s body as he slowly reached for the bottom, pressure closing over him from every side and water getting cooler and darker at every spin of his tail. He felt, more than saw, the first squids passing by him and Kazunari smiled to himself, all fears temporarily forgotten as the game began.

All in all, he definitely should have known better.

He should have expected predators to attend such a gathering of easy preys: in fact, he’d had the common sense of taking a blade with him, at least; just to be safe, it wasn’t like he meant to use it… the balance at the bay and in the small portion of ocean all around it had been settled many years before, and for a long time Kazunari hadn’t had to fight for his life in what was mostly considered his territory. Local predators, rare that they were, left him alone and it was very improbable for a potential, serious threat to reach the waters fo the village, of all places. The big, white shark had been one of them, and Kazunari had been glad that humans were not more fond of that huge monster than he was, and very glad that they had wanted to capture it and acted so quickly, on top of that. Readiness wasn’t something he’d come to expect from humans. Kazunari had looked at the trap they had set and coaxed the beast right into it: it had costed him the hem of his caudal fins and humans had almost caught him as well that day, but it had been worth it – it was nothing compared to the many times he’d almost been torn into pieces or eaten alive by that atrocity. Kazunari had felt no remorse in seeing it hanging upside down on top of the cliff. Since that scary experience, things had gone back to normal and no creature had questioned Kazunari’s place in the food chain again.

Until that night.

There were blue sharks around and that, in itself, was not a surprise. They lived in the bay and they had never been a problem. Kazunari spared a glance at them and went back to his preys, putting a struggling, newly caught female squid into his sachet. He didn’t pay enough attention to the predators closing in (they were there for the cuttlefish as much as he was), until one of them swam near enough for Kazunari to understand that those were not, indeed, the blue sharks that usually inhabitated the bay with him, but wild, roaming ones, attracted by the vast amount of easy preys and the cold, deep waters. Huge, famished ones that were high from successful hunting in a habitat that suited them best, while Kazunari was playing around with his food in an environment that killed his best weapon, at a time of the day that made his movements ill-defined and his reflexes slower.

He squirted to the side just as a vicious mouth closed where an istant before his hips had been and the longest blue shark Kazunari had ever seen passed in front of him in a blur. He’d forgotten, in his many years with the placid creatures at the bay, just how fast blue shark could be. And how good thir teeth were at grabbing slimy, squirmish preys.

Kazunari fled.

He didn’t look back, didn’t need to, because as soon as he’d dodged another attack from a second shark (a small one, probably sated and luckily with little enthusiasm) he’d known that the big, male one that had lounged at him first was on his tail. Literally. His quick reaction had given him a small advantage, but those creatures were sprinters and could cover great distances in very little time, if they put themselves into it. Kazunari hoped for that not to be the case, but as he narrowly escaped a second attack, he realized in sheer panic that it was: the shark was specifically after him and it wouldn’t have stopped until it had caught him.

Kazunari’s only advantage was his knowledge of the place, but that wasn’t a great help since the area was almost entirely open and there weren’t effective hiding spots. He dodged around rocks and swam under all the tunnels that he could remember but, in the end, the beast always managed to catch up and snap its teeth at him. Kazunari threw his squids at it in the hope to distract it, but it didn’t work. He hated being blind, or as close to being blind he’d ever come. There was a certainty in his wide field of vision, in his sharp eyes that he was not used to give up, and it literally terrified him to not be able to see the source of his danger untili t was close enough to kill him, close enough that Kazunari’s survival depended on quick reflexes, animal instinct and sheer luck.

And it was in such a moment, mind flooded with panic, that Kazunari miscalculated the shark’s proximity and, in an awful istant, felt the predator’s mouth close around his hips. Had he reacted a fraction of second later, the blue shark would have bitten off a big chunk of his tail and he would have been finished. A savage twist and spin saved his life, though it didn’t really save his lower side. Pain flashed all through his body as the water tinged with blood and the shark sensed it. In an inarticulate attempt to regain control of his wounded body, Kazunari’s hand gripped his blade (the last one he had) tightly and braced himself. The shark came again and with a final, painful twist, Kazunari managed to sta bit. It should have been a letal blow, or the closest thing to a letal blow anyway, but it wasn’t: their position was not optimal and in the effort of getting every part of his body out of the shark’s mouth’s reach, Kazunari had angled his hit wrong and effectively lost his only chance to stop his opponent.

The wounded creature trashed mildly and Kazunari was thrown away. As soon as he felt free he sprinted, aiming for a desperate, mad dash towards a shelter. The struggle had disoriented him, though: as he dived to make the chase more difficult, right arm extended in front of him to gain speed and keep the root straight, Kazunari was not ready to crash at full speed with the rocky bottom. Something moved in the worst way possible into his shoulder and scorching pain blinded him for a moment. Adrenaline kicked in again as Kazunari quickly realized where he was and what he was flighting from, and he willed his battered body to obedience one last time.

Leaving a trail of his own blood, he rushed forward, death at his heels, a useless arm limp at his side, almost a nuisance, since it slowed him down. He glanced around in terror, looking for a hole, a pit, a small cave, anything… until suddenly a familiar rock appeared beside him. With the little strenght he’d left, Kazunari took a gamble and suddenly swam upwards, in the open water: it was his only chance at survival, at that point, and he was either taking it or offering himself on a plate. He reached what he hoped was the right height and sprinted forward like a bullet. Towards the reef. Towards the tight ring of weeds that he hoped would be there. Towards the small, unaccessible to anything larger than him, hidden entrance of The Pond.

*

Kazunari didn’t hear the dull thud of the shark’s collision with the rocks. Didn’t hear anything, really. He took advantage of his momentum to reach the flat rocks he ususally lounged on, but he didn’t have the strenght to push himself up.

He floated numbly until his good arm hit the shore. With a pained push of his tail he managed to pull himself half out of the water. His left side throbbed painfully and, in the moonlight, he could see his blood pouring out of the wound. His right shoulder sent unsufferable jolts of pain all through his spine at the smallest movement and he couldn’t use that arm at all without screaming himself hoarse.

He couldn’t swim. He couldn’t crawl. He couldn’t find a comfortable position to lie down and take a breath. He didn’t have anyone to turn to for help. Kazunari came down of the adrenaline rish slowly and the ache in his battered body just grew higher with every intake of air, on par with his desolation. And fear.

He felt cold, and lonely, and so very _small_ , all of a sudden. Lost, _afraid_ and in so much pain…

He didn’t realize he was crying until he heard his own, soft whimpers.

As the first rays of light hit The Pond, Kazunari, his own blood pooling slowly around him and tainting the water in bright red, passed out from exhaustion, and pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...evil cliffhanger is evil.


	5. Chapter 05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting halfway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the delay: my life has shaped itself so that it will be hard for me to keep the updates weekly. I'll still do my best to manage, but I guess they'll probably come every ten days. Sorry.

Shintarou didn’t let the crisp, cool air intimidate him that morning, and went out at the break of dawn as usual. He helped Riko with the animals, collecting the eggs from the chicken house as the girl milked the goats, checked the fading burn she’d given herself the previous week (“A trick of the oil lamp!”, she had said. “A very unlucky attempt at cooking!”, had replied Junpei), gave her more salve to apply to the offended hand and left towards The Pond, listening absent-mindedly at her usual recommendations.

He didn’t really need to go to The Pond that day: he’d already collected everything he needed, uprooted and re-planted his selected species and there was nothing else down there he could turn into a useful remedy, not for that season, anyway. Still, it had been a habit of his to go twice or thrice a week, lately, and since the weather was still quite goo, there was no harm in keeping up the routine. He could always check on his plants and make sure the protective measures he’d made up for the winter were steady and durable. He was also fairly sure the creature ( _Kazunari_ ) would have been there, as it always did. Not that it mattered, of course.

The noise startled him, and it was quickly pretty clear that something was wrong. The seagulls were loud and it sounded like there were many of them in the Pond, many more than usual and it made little sense. Perhaps a shoal was swimming on the surface…

Shintarou, carefully but steadily, climbed down the wall of rock like he’d done countless times before and when he was finally able to turn his gaze around and have a clear view of the little bay, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

The creature ( _Kazunari_ ) laid on its stomach, beached in a pool of bright red blood. There were, indeed, seagulls all around it, walking briskly by its sides, landing one after the other, soaring in the ar, picking at the crabs on the shore and, Shintarou realized in horror, at the majestic orange tail, limp and lifeless in the water, at the mercy of the slow current.

Moved by sheer curiosity and academic interest, or so he told himself, Shintarou rushed through the shaky, rocky path, risking his neck several times as he lost his already precarious grip on the walls in the haste to reach the bottom. Once there, he stumbled to the shore, frightening the birds away and swatting crabs and stray, hungry fish from the unmoving body. He had seen the creature dead still before: in fact, Kazunari had been able to spy on him for hours at times without so much as batting an eye, but this was a completely different, completely _wrong_ kind of _still_. Its skin was turning a greyish, pale, sick shade, its tail was losing brightness and moisture, the scales looking dry and frail. With some difficulty, Shintarou managed to turn the merman around, searching for the source of the blood.

The wound looked serious: had it been treated earlier, it wouldn’t have been anything life-threatening, probably, but at the moment, with blood pouring from it still, slowly but steadily, Shintarou couldn’t tell. There was the risk of infection, too, even though he had very little knowledge about merfolk immunitary systems, if it even existed in the first place. He focused on the human part of the creature’s body, then, taking in the dry gills and the pained expression. The right shoulder looked dislodged and nothing more, something very similar to the ones he’d already treated: luckily, he may have been able to fix that. Shintarou pressed a hand to the creature’s throat, fingers pushing at the spot were, had Kazunari been a human, a pulse should have been. And a pulse, faint as it was, he found. A quick check for confirmation and Shintarou find out that there was a heart beating somewhere into that chest, while air was still filling those lungs, though weakly. The creature whimpered softly and its eyes slid open for a fraction.

Shintarou straightened up and breathed in, deeply. There wasn’t time to spare: with a soft ‘Please, forgive me’ he put his hands on the creature’s right arm, moving and rotating it as the protocol said until the bone snapped back into place. The merman shouted all through the process and passed out again at the last jolt of pain. As quickly and as carefully as he could, Shintarou took off his shirt and used it to bind the injured limb to the creature’s chest, before trying to move Kazunari out of direct sunlight – but there was no way he could pull such a heavy body around without stressing it too much. He grabbed the creature’s waist, then, and pulled it back into the sea: water at his hips, Shintarou held it tightly and walked towards the side of the beach that was still in shadow and hurled Kazunari as up the shore as he could, coverig him with moist sea weeds and hiding it behind some bushes to make it harder for the animals to find it.

He had barely the time to murmur ‘Hold on’ before dashing back up the rocky path, climbing up the steep cliff as possessed, reciting in his mind the complete list of items and tools he needed for the intervention; he raided his cupboards, gripped the emergency bag and a new shirt, and ran back as if the devil itself was at his heels, praying that it wasn’t too late.

*

It wasn’t. The creature was exactly were he’d left it, breathing shallowly and faintly. There was very little Shintarou knew about fish biology, but a wound was a wound and since he had no time to spare, it was less a matter of speculation and more a call for action. The blood flow had almost stopped, but the torned flesh needed to be cleaned and disinfected: Shintarou hoped what he had would do.

He worked for a long time, casting, every now and then, a glance at the unconscious merman, a bit worried, a bit grateful for its lack of awareness. He carefully cut the loose strips of torn skin, stitched the deepest cuts, prickly cleaned every single scratch he could spot on the whole tail and on the human-looking skin. Halfway through the process, he’d thoroughly forgotten he was patching up a mostly dead, half-human thing: that was the most exciting operation he’d done in almost a year and no weird anatomy, sad thought ot unnecessary worry could take his attention away from the life currently on his hands.

*

The wound should have stayed dry and clean, but Shintarou could hardly ask a merman to stay out of the water, especially when its skin seemed to suffer the lack of hydratation so much. Sarisfied with his results, he opted for a soothing, lenitive balm and tight bandages.

Sighing loudly once again, Shintarou rolled up the spare bandages to store the away: his stock was really growing thin, so much that he couldn’t postpone the trip to the city anymore.

Now that the worst seemed to have passed and the creature’s unconsciousness looked more like a deep sleep than a coma, Shintarou started to feel tired: the sun had reached its peak and even in the little, secluded spot shadows were almost disappeared. Shintarou soaked a sand-coloured cloth and tied it on his head, collected his other spare shirt (the one he kept in the bag in these cases, so old and battered that the cotton was falling apart), opened it wide and tied it to several sticks, letting it hover on the merman’s body, shielding it from the sun as much as it could – it looked like a wobbly, makeshift tent and it wasn’t much of a screen, but they had to make do. He picked up a sponge from the bag, as well, and spent the following hours pouring sea water all over Kazunari’s skin, the human one and the fish-like one. From the way it glistened and visibly became more elastic and less dull, he guessed it was the right move.

*

Kazunari woke up slowly: his head felt heavy and dizzy, his body ached all over. He vaguely remembered passing out hours before, the dreamy sensation of being talked to and touched and moved around, a horrible pain in his right shoulder, the cool, gentle caress of the water…but it had to be a dream, right?

He opened his eyes to a sand-coloured ceiling that shielded him weakly from the sun, a feeling of exhaustion and a spread numbness mixed with ache. His hair sticked to his forehead and he istinctively brought his right hand up to swipe them back: it didn’t move, though pain flashed like an electric jolt all through that arm, up to his neck. His whole side felt constricted and crushed, and there was something very uncomfortable stuck to his tail, but he didn’t have the strenght to get his head up and see for himself.

A familiar, though unexpected, voice startled him more than anything else:

-          Are you awake?

 _Shin-chan_.

Kazunari panicked.

He was alone, out of the water, weak and useless with a big, healthy human that had most likely tied him, completely at his mercy. The sun shone over Shin-chan’s left hand and made the big knife he gripped glisten.

Kazunari snapped.

*

Shintarou thanked God for his quick reflexes or the consequences would have been very serious. The merman, Kazunari, had opened its eyes and reacted much like a wild animal would have. The terror of being trapped had been painfully clear in those distant, transparent orbs and its unrefined, mad trashing had dislodged Shintarou enough to grant the creature its escape. Vane were the verbal attempts to stop the frightened (and frightening) merman and Shintarou was wise enough not to try to phisically restrain it, for that heavy, wounded tail looked positively deadly, especially among the rocks.

The creature slipped in the water in the end, but it didn’t last long. A couple of spins, a dive towards the central reef and Kazunari went still again, its strenght already drained. Shintarou assisted impotent as the merman started floating again, bandages spotted with red again. Annoyed and frustrated as he always became when his good work was stepped on by oblivious, ungrateful fools, Shintarou gritted his teeth and quickly stepped out of his shoes, pulled off his shirt and trousers and moved a tentative step in the cool water. The shiver made him hiss and stop, and he looked at the unconscious creature again: if it came to its senses again and started struggling in the water, it could have been lethal. Shintarou took a deep breath, adjusted his glasses and, firmly inentioned to always keep his head above the surface, moved dowards the merman.

*

Kazunari found himself moving in the water. He was sure his tail wasn’t moving, but the way he slided on the smooth surface was too unnatural. All of a sudden, he was very aware of a pair of hands on his good arm and his chest, and he tried to fight against them… just to find out he couldn’t. He had no more energy to do so and all his limbs produced was a meek struggle that held no power and posed no threat. A shushing sound came from behind him and he was pulled against a warm, hard chest. Completely unable to escape, Kazunari whimpered again, a heart-wrenching cry made of grief, fear and resignated defeat. The arm around him tightened just a little:

-          I’m not hurting you. Can you understand what I say? Hush. You’re safe.

The deep rumble _was_ soothing, in a sense.

-          It’s alright. You’re safe, now…

So soothing that Kazunari’s eyes dropped close, against his will, for the third time.

-          …you’re with me.

*

-          Shin-chan?

Shintarou lifted his gaze from his fishing spot at the familiar call and looked at Kazunari, laid out on the beach again, but with no need to be protected from the sun this time, as the light was no longer strong. The creature was watching him with a blank, uncharacteristical stare.

-          You are awake. How do you feel?

-          What did you do to me?

It was hurt and disappointed and resigned. Empty, in a way. Shintarou flinched.

-          I bandaged your wounds and fixed your shoulder. That’s all.

There was a pause.

-          What will you do to me?

-          Feed you, if I manage to catch something you deem edible. Make sure you heal. Nothing else, I guess.  …what did you think I’d do?

-          I don’t know. You humans have always been able to surprise me, in this sense.

Shintarou stood up and walked towards him. Kazunari’s reply was curt and venomous:

-          Don’t you dare. Stay were you are. Not a step closer.

Shintarou sat down again.

-          I came here this morning at dawn, like usual. You were lying over there, half on the shore, half in the water. You were unconscious and there were fish, crabs and seagulls around you, picking at your flesh and trying to eat you alive. I sent them away and checked on you: you were still breathing, but the wound on your tail was bad and the bone here –he said pointing at his right shoulder- was dislocated, I’ll tell you what it means if you want. I fixed that first, but in order to make it heal properly you shouldn’t move that limb for a while, hence I took my shirt off and used it to bind your arm to your chest, so that you wouldn’t accidentally hurt yourself. I moved you to a more secluded place, then, and ran to fetch my equipment. I came back, cleaned your wound –which means that I’ve taken anything that could make it worse out of it- and closed the skin by sewing it together. The cloth around your hips helps protecting it from further harm. When you got scared, earlier, you accidentally ripped it open again: I’ve fixed that too, but in order for it to heal properly, you should probably be more careful with your movements, in the future.

More silence.

-          Why?

-          Because if you work your muscles too hard, the effort could tear the skin again and-

-          Why did you do all of that?

-          …I’m a doctor.

-          What does that mean?

-          It’s what I do for aliving. My job is to understand what makes people sick and cure it, to heal them when they’re hurt or feeling bad and get them better.

-          …a job is something you get paid to do, right?

-          It usually is, yes.

-          I can’t pay you.

-          I don’t want you to.

-          You said it was your job to fix me!

-          …but you didn’t ask for it. I saw you in trouble and I thought I could help you, because I had the necessary knowledge to do so. I acted on my own accord because I wanted to help you. That’s all. You don’t owe me anything.

-          …does that mean you won’t cut off my tail?

Shintarou paled.

-          Why would I want to cut your tail?

Kazunari looked away.

-          Humans seemed to like that.

Shintarou swallowed.

-          If I wanted to cut your tail, I would have taken it while you were sleeping… it would have been easier and less troublesome, don’t you agree?

Kazunari rolled completely on his side, giving him the back.

-          Will you put me in a tank, then? Show me off to everyone and make _them_ pay for the show?

Shintarou got closer. Kazunari didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.

-          Who did this to you?

Kazunari turned around swiftly, hissing in pain, eyes aflame.

-          It doesn’t matter. I crushed them with this tail and drowned them. They and their pretty words.

Shintarou held his gaze:

-          They deserved it.

*

-          Don’t come any closer.

-          I won’t.

*

-          Do you eat squid?

-          Eh??? Where did you find them?!

-          You know I leave my lobster pots here. I caught three. There’s an octopus, too. So, are these part of your diet?

-          Hand them over. I’m starving and they’re my _favourite_.

*

-          I feel dizzy. And weak.

-          You lost a lot of blood, it’s normal. Your body needs to recover.

-          How long will it take?

-          I’ve never assisted someth- …someone like you, so I can’t say for sure. Not very much, if you rest properly.

-          What does that mean?

-          Don’t swim much. Well, don’t burden your tail. And try to not move the arm. It would probably be best if you stayed inside the reef, it seems quieter, here. And I would like to check the wounds once a day.

-          What am I suppose to eat if I stay still?

-          …I can take care of it as well.

-          …can I have squids?

*

The following days were weird. Kazunari had very little reason to listen to the human, but he did nevertheless. He spent most of his days sleeping in low waters, where the man could spot him but not reach him, not even with a harpoon. And indeed Shin-chan came, everyday, when the sun was about to set, bringing his big, worn out bag with him and a bucket full of fresh fish that Kazunari had no idea where he got.

Though Shin-chan had apparently touched him before and caused no harm, Kazunari was very reluctant to trust a human outside of the water and the first afternoon he perched himself (with no little effort) on his favourite flat rock and refused to reach the shore.

-          If you want to touch me, you come here.

He’d watched, serious and stubborn, as the human rolled his words in his head, trying to take a decision. Kazunari was at clear disadvantage on land, though Shin-chan would have been even more lost in the water. Knowing that Kazunari had already killed someone didn’t help, either. Kazunari smirked sadly at the struggling expression of the man in front of him, ready to see fear win over resolution and prepared to watch him go away, but unexpectedly, the human didn’t turn: he put the bag and bucket on the sand, took his clothes off carefully (was that what legs really looked like under those garments? Were those –what did they call them?- …feet?) and slowly making his way in the water, bag and bucket firmly held above his head even when he didn’t touch the bottom anymore. That looked uncomfortable.

Kazunari sat quiet and wide-eyes as the human ( _Shin-chan_ ) pulled himself on the flat rock beside him and tamely complied when Shintarou asked, in a neutral, professional voice:

-          Would you please let me see your arm?

*

-          What are these things on your face, Shin-chan?

-          Spectacles. They make me see better.

-          Don’t you have eyes for that?

-          My eyes don’t work properly. These spectacles help me.

-          Can I try them?

-          No you can’t. Do you think you may have trouble with your sight as well?

-          I can count the leaves on those trees over there. Maybe even the flies. Do you think it’s bad?

-          …turn around and let me strap your tail.

*

-          Kazunari?

-          Mh?

-          Can we please do this closer to the land?

Kazunari stilled.

-          Why?

Shintarou sighed.

-          Because it’s November and if you keep making me swim in the freezing water I’ll get pneumonia and die. I’m not kidding.

Kazunari choked:

-          Why didn’t you tell me you were _cold_?!

*

-          You humans sure are tiny and fragile…

-          Well, _sorry_ …

The cuts were healing at a steady pace and Shintarou felt a bit relieved, in a sense. He was sitting on the beach, Kazunari’s tail across his legs: the thing was so heavy they were going numb, but it was the best position for him to work and for the creature to watch his every move. It liked that.

-          You never told me what happened. I have an idea, but you never said.

-          A pack of blue sharks attacked me east from here. One chased me and managed to bite me.

Shintarou paled and noticed for the first time the faint pattern of thin, old scars on the creature’s skin.

-          Does it… does it happen very often?

-          Not really. I’ve stayed here for a long time, this is a safe place. But yes, it’s not the first time I’ve run into a hungry shark.

-          Don’t you have anything to protect yourself?

-          It’s not that easy to figth a shark, you know? I’ve had blades with me, lately, though. You know, those pointy, sharp things you drop out of your boats sometimes? They’ve helped. I’ve lost the last one with this shark, though.

-          I see.

*

-          How old are you, exactly?

-          …I don’t know. I’ve seen many generations of humans come into the world and leave it, though…

*

-          Were you always able to talk?

-          Two of your pups taught me. It was a long time ago.

-          Did you stalk them like you did with me?

-          They were special. You reminded me of them.

*

-          _You didn’t_!

-          I said I’m sorry! Ahah! Shin-chan, I’m sorry! I swear I’m sorry!

-          You _hit_ me!

-          I didn’t do it on purpose!

-          You _slapped_ me with your tail!

-          It tickles! When you touch it like that _it tickles_! It moves on his own accord!

-          I just slid my fingers on the caudal fin like th- _OUCH_!

-          See?! I’m sorry! …and could you please stop doing that? It’s not pleasant at all.

Shintarou rubbed his swollen cheek.

-          Indeed.

Kazunari rolled his eyes and turned around.

-          Here. You can take a sample of that slimy thing on my skin that you’re so fond of. It mostly comes out somewhere from my back. Have a look.

Shintarou’s eyes shone.

-          Can I really?

-          Go on, before I change my mind. If you’re quick, I may even let you look at my hands.

He faced the man again once he was done. Shintarou beamed at him.

-          _Thank you_.

For the first time in his long life, Kazunari blushed.

-          What can be so interesting about _mucus_ I’ll never know.

Shintarou chuckled and got up, gathering his things.

-          I’ll tell you as soon as I analyze it. Ehi, what do I have to do to look at your teeth?

Kazunari splashed him right in the face.

*

-          Take care. It’s almost time to take off that bind and the last of the stitches.

-          Will you still come, tomorrow?

-          …of course.


	6. Chapter 06

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Have you ever wished, with all your might, that you were born in a different world?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . I'm SO VERY SORRY for the delayed update! I really have no excuses except for "real life happened" that means both everything and nothing at the same time.
> 
> This period is a bit frantic for me, so, again, I'll do my best to update soon, but I can't really promise anything. Rest assured that the story will see its natural end, and it will happen in a reasonable time. If I'm late, it mostly because studying is more or less killing me.
> 
> . I usually post "updates" (more like cries for help) about the fic on my tumblr, so if you wonder where I've gone it is possible you'd find some answers at julesdrenages.tumblr.com

-          I’d dare to say that we can take everything off, at last. Congratulations, you’re perfectly healed.

Kazunari had leapt of joy, as much as he could effectively jump, being out of the sea: Shintarou was reminded of a fat, round goldfish agonizing for water. The creature clapped its hands enthusiastically and stretched its now free arm with care, as Shintarou had instructed (perhaps something had indeed penetrated in that thick skull of its) and after a quick warm up it dived eagerly, though not before making sure that Shintarou was going to stay there.

The doctor sat on the rocky shore with a light chuckle, a small laugh that died on his lips the moment the merman leapt out of the water at full force: Shintarou’s eyes widened in wonder as he watched the high arc of the creature’s trajectory, the fluid movements of its arms, the graceful arch of its back and tail, the way time seemed to slow down while Kazunari flew in the air with a joyful, loud laugh, pure bliss etched in every line of its face. It was finished in an istant, but as Shintarou let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the creature jumped again and again, grinning madly as it spinned its tail to gain power and speed: Shintarou lost track of time as he looked, enraptured, at the incredible, unique sight in front of him, the unbelievable wonder that was a _merman_ , a _legendary creature_ , unmistakingly _happy_ , playing around a pool of water and having fun like an overjoyed pup.

After a long time, Kazunari didn’t reemerge and Shintarou, though a bit disappointed at the sudden disappearance, took it as a hint to gather his things and go home. When he got up, Kazunari’s head came out of the water just enough for the man to see a huge, freshly caught squid trapped in its mouth and a mischievous, proud glint in its eyes: it looked exactly like a smug cat and Shintarou asked himself since when he’d started to associate Kazunari (a wild force of nature, a creature that could have killed him in a whim) to such _domestic_ images.

Kazunari reached the beach in the blink of an eye and spat the squid at Shintarou’s feet:

-          Are you going? Already?

-          Do not worry about me: hunt, if you’re hungry. Have fun.

-          That’s for you!

-          What?

-          You like squids too, don’t you? Take it. As a thanks!

-          I told you, I didn’t want to be paid for this.

-          It’s not payment. We are friends and I like you, hence I want to give you a squid as a present!

Shintarou was speechless. The creature misunderstood his hesitation:

-          Is it bad? I did something wrong, right? What is it?

The man shook his head, knelt to pick up the squid and placed it carefull into his bucket.

-          Nothing. You did nothing wrong. I like squids very much, so I’ll accept this with pleasure. Thank you.

Kazunari smiled.

*

The city was not big, but after almost a year of isolation in a village whose inhabitants were used to call each other by their first name, it was almost overwhelming.

The year was reaching its end and the Winter Fair that took place in that period was going to be the last, big market that many people from distant towns would be able to attend before frost and snow made it impossible to travel. Men and women crowded the alleys, donkeys pulled wagons of all size and shape through the paved streets, colourful boots lined up in the main square as their loud hosts dealt with clients and vendors alike. The air smelled of dye, spices, wool and food, children ran in every direction, guard dogs barked at everyone who got too close to their masters’ goods; women with small handcarts yelled at the top of their lungs offering toasted corn and chestnuts, pancakes with syrup and spiced wine, men worked relentlessly from an interlocutor to the other, exchanging coins for merchandise, negotiating with up to four people at once and every now and then a fight would break and someone would scream at a thief, a fraud, a whore.

Shintarou was astounded. Truth was, he hadn’t felt all that ready to go back to civilization, but a quick glance at his poor cabinets had convinced him to overcome his insecurities: his stocks had been running down for quite some time and though he had been able to dose them well all through the summer and most of the autumn, there was absolutely no way he could survive the winter with just the few things there were left. His seasonal herbs were growing at a fine pace in the small patch of land he’d fixed in his backyard, while his little, makeshift greenhouse seemed enough, so far, to shelter the most delicate ones – but it was still his first real winter at the village, he had no way to know what plants were really going to survive and, most of all, there were _some_ things he just couldn’t cure without basic pharmaceuticals.

Reluctantly, he had pulled off the shelf his old, worn out notebook and opened it at the central page: there was a list of names, his old menthors’ and acquaintances’ names, complete with addresses and, in some lucky cases, phone numbers.

The only phone in the village was at Izuki’s office, and most of the time it didn’t even work. Shintarou spent more than one day in the cramped room, hunched over the old machine, trying to make contact with the ones that were most likely to remember him and, above all, still willing to speak to him. He managed to get three appointments from the apothecaries of the nearest city for the first day of the Winter Fair and considered himself extremely lucky.

The village was one of those little hamlets that became thoroughly isolated as soon as the cold season started: snow came early at their latitude and, once it started to fall, even the train rides were sparser. The locals had grown restless and had began to overwork themselves since the end of the summer, with the only goal of store food and primal goods for the upcoming, long winter: their efforts had been so impressive to Shintarou that he’d been reminded of the wise ants in fairy tales. Among those ants, the Koganeis really stood out as the most industrious: their role as merchants and owners of the only emporium required them to be the most prepared to the hardships of the winter, and their selfless, good-natured attitude just increased the sense of responsibility they felt towards their small community. Koganei’s youngest son Shinji was the most enthusiastic when it came to help his comrades and that was how Shintarou had found himself a free ride to the fair _before_ having the chance to even _consider_ the problem.

The last seasonal fair was a huge affair for the village and the Koganeis: they’d woken well before dawn, packed lunch, checked their lists several times, loaded the carriages and taken the narrow, broken road that passed in front of the lonely station post. The amount of goods they needed to secure was so considerable that they had needed all their carriages and a couple of handcarts, which had lead both the Izukis and the Hyuugas to lend the Koganeis their own donkeys, to help them on the way back. Shintarou and his two cases had been reserved a spot on the first carriage, beside Shinji’s resolute, chatty, maiden sister, an offer he couldn’t refuse, given the dress-code he’d had to respect.

*

It happened right after Shintarou’s third interview, the one he’d looked forward to the most. Masaaki Nakatani had always been a valuable mentor, an experienced apothecary with a progressive mind and the kind of passionate, persistent attitude towards his job that Shintarou shared and admired. The man respected him and valued his philosophy, his belief that, in their profession as in life, doing anything less than what was humanly possible was completely unacceptable. Nakatani had been surprised and disappointed when he’d learned of Shintarou’s rushed departure from the capital, but, always a step ahead of his colleagues, he’d wasted no time prying in his pupil’s personal life, questioning his choices and giving arrogant lectures: he’d opted, instead, for for finding him the most suitable place for his flight, making sure he had means to keep in touch.

When Shintarou had appeared at his door that day, he had smiled drily and patted his shoulder, shaking his former pupil’s hand with a neutral:

-          I can’t say I find you well, but you still look better than I thought.

 

A couple of hours later, they were having lunch together at an inn nearby, still discussing Shintarou’s researches and new experiments. Buying chemicals was kind of easy: he had his title as a doctor and was practicing his profession legally – nobody could deny him the basic pharmaceuticals he required and could pay for. Trying to get people involved and invested in his alternative methods and studies on plant properties was another matter entirely.

-          Do they _really_ work, Shintarou?

-          All the patients I treated have shown great improvement so far, but their number is still too little for me to make those results official. Doses and composition of the most toxic of my brews, also vary with the patient’s built and state of health: they can’t be sold like standard mixtures, they must be custom made. I’ve brought a selection of the less dangerous and ordinary blends: in the worst case, they’ll be uneffective, but I’d like to think that won’t be the case.

-          You know I can’t sell and recommend something without even knowing its efficiency. I’m putting my reputation and professionality at stake, here.

-          I know there are people here that can’t afford proper treatment and I also know that you do your best to give free help the poors. I’m giving you a winter’s worth of remedies for the most common ailments: colds, fevers, heartburns, diarrhea, inflammations, rheumatisms… In the worst scenario, nothing will change for you, in the best, you’ll save all the money and products you usually invested in your hidden charity.

-          They can’t pay for this, Shintarou. _I_ can’t pay for this.

-          It doesn’t matter, yet. It’s a test. Consider these free samples.

-          They’re the product of a whole year of work.

-          And they will pay me back thrice as much, if I prove their efficiency.

Nakatani pinched his nose. Shintarou bit his lip.

-          Will you give me a chance, sir?

Nakatani sighed and offered his hand over the table:

-          I will, but you’d better accept an extra set of gauzes and syringes. I have an old set of instruments I’m not using anymore, too. I’ll make you a backpack as soon as we go back to the shop and I don’t want to hear a word of protest or the deal is canceled. Clear?

Shintarou chuckled, relief flooding him:

-          Crystal, sir.

And it was right there, as they sipped their coffee (something Shintarou hadn’t tasted in months) that Nakatani was spotted by Genma Takeuchi, old friend, regular of the inn and owner and printer of the local newspaper.

-          Masaaki! Have you heard the latest news? The whole city is talking about it since yesterday afternoon, as expected: you know how our ladies love their gossip!

-          What is it, Genma?

-          Lord Akashi, from the capital: his son is getting _married_!

Shintarou’s cup fell to the floor and shattered.

*

-          Are you sure, doc? The road is long and there’s space on the carriage for you too.

-          No, Shinji, thank you. Please, load another trunk or two of supplies: I’ll walk the donkey on the front.

-          As you prefer. But thanks.

_Nakatani glanced at him sideways._

-          _Really? That must have caused quite an uproar?_

-          _Indeed! The capital is in a frenzy!_

-          _Who’s the lucky girl?_

-          _They met last year at his Coming of Age Ball: love at first sight, they say – he’s been courting her since a couple of weeks after the event, early January, if I recall correctly, and now they’re officially engaged! The bride’s mother fainted, when she heard the proposal! Girls from all over the capital and beyond are tearing off their hair!_

-          _Is there a date, yet?_

-          _The say next July, not after the tenth. The most palatable date seems to be the seventh, you know, for luck: a blessed marriage on the luckiest day, under a full moon. It’s perfect, like tha couple. Now, about the invitations…_

_Nakatani had been wise and kind enough to avoid dragging Shintarou in the conversation; after Genma had gone away and started chatting about the local politics with the bartender, Shintarou had excused himself and only at that point nakatani had arched a brow at him and demanded, in a neutral tone:_

-          _Your village may be far and isolated, but I doubt Seijurou Akashi wouldn’t have taken that into consideration when he wrote to_ all _of us._

-          You knew?

-          _I’ve known for a couple of weeks. Lord Akashi doesn’t make the press feast unless it’s on his leftovers and on his own conditions, you should be well aware of it. The question is: why didn’t_ you _know, Shintarou?_

_There was only one answer, to that:_

-          _Because I wasn’t supposed to. Because it would have been better that way. For everyone._

_Nakatani nodded once, somberly, and guided him back to his shop. He didn’t brought up the subject again, though Shintarou had the distinct impression that his mentor had grasped enough of the situation to assume a thing or two (and, of course, Nakatani’s assumptions were very rarely wrong). But he was a silent, serious, respectable man that kept to himself and didn’t meddle in the life of others, especially those he cared for. If Nakatani had wanted to cut ties with him, he would have done so without a second thought (much like all the others) and wouldnt have invited him for another cup of tea and a renewed offer for their joint business. As the older man walked him to the door and handed him much more supplies that Shintarou had paid for, squeezed his shoulder with much more affection than his words betrayed and told him sternly to keep in touch (for the sake of their projects, of course), Shintarou felt extremely grateful to be on his good books, still._

It didn’t take the bitter sting of grief out of his heart, but it soothed the ache a little. Truth was, Shintarou had been expecting something like that, at one point or another. Actually, he’d disappeared from that world _exactly_ to make _this_ happen, so he didn’t feel particularly surprised or upset with the news as they were. Still, there was something heavy and chilling in the consciousness that he’d been the only one _not_ knowing, because someone miles apart from him, someone that knew him intimately, had known him for most of his life, had decided it was best for him to _not_ know. And since Shintarou knew Seijurou as well, far more than the rest of the world deemed possible, he also knew how much that unsent letter and invitation weighted on Seijurous breast pocket.

As he walked back to the village in the darkness and with the Koganeis’ idle chatter filling the silence, Shintarou was able to play the whole scene in his head, so accurate in its details he might have been there for real.

Seijurou and lord Akashi had not spoken his name aloud, silently agreeing to not include him in the list: Lord Akashi didn’t want him there. Seijurou didn’t, either, but for opposite reasons, the very same reasons for which Shintarou didn’t want to go, in the first place. Because there was no point in re-opening old wounds right when they were starting to close, the skin above them so tender it could break at the smallest tear. No point in causing a scandal and a ruckus again, not when people were starting to forget. No point in hurting each other all over again, on a day that had to be the testament to their moving on.

There would be a day when they could meet again with their heads held up high, not an act of strenght but a natural posture, a day when they could look at each other without a hint of pain nor a shadow of regret in their eyes, a day when Shintarou could be truly happy about Seijurou’s marriage. And Seijurou as well.

But not _that_ day.

And for the first time in a year or so, noticing the directions his thoughts had taken, Shintarou didn’t wish to lock himself into his house again, but longed for company, the kind of company no human being had ever been able to give him.

*

-          Here, these are for you.

-          Eh?! What is it, what is it? Shin-chan, let me see!

-          Be careful.

Kazunari took the offered package eagerly and opened it quickly, eyes going wide at the revealed content.

-          You got me …blades? But they look different.

-          They’re made from bone and sharpened stones. The water won’t damage the mas quickly as the ones you’ve had until now. Please, do try to not lose them. They’re not very easy to obtain.

The creature held up a small knife, white surface glinting in the sunlight.

-          They’re beautiful. Thank you, thank you, Shin-chan.

It was the sun, Shintarou told himself. The sun and nothing else than made him feel all that heat in his cheeks. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way the merman’s eyes shone in the light and his bright smile lit up its whole face as it laughed.

-          Mph. You’re welcome.

-          Do you mind if I try them?

-          Not at all. Go on, I’ll have lunch myself.

*

-          Ehi, Shin-chan.

-          What is it?

-          Is there anything wrong?

Shintarou tilted his head to the side:

-          Not particularly.

-          I’ve been fishing for some time and you haven’t moved a muscle. You always complain that it’s cold, but you’ve been sitting on the ground since morning. You haven’t checked your plants at all, not even once. You’ve barely said a word. You look… sad.

Shintarou flinched and sighed, resting his chin on his knees. Kazunari floated silently towards him.

-          What happened?

The man swallowed and didn’t answer, too busy trying to put the words together in a way that could make sense to a _merman_.

-          You can tell me, you know. It’s not like I could blabber about it to anyone...

-          It’s not that. It’s just… hard to explain. Maybe.

Kazunari didn’t say anything and just looked expectantly at him. Shintarou gazed at the sky and let his thoughts wander through the paths he’d already thoroughly explored the (sleepless) night before.

_If my parents never died. If I never met him. If I were a woman. If he was a woman. If I never left. If I never loved him. If he never loved me. If he wasn’t who he was. If he didn’t want the things he wanted. If he was the kind of man that changed his mind._

_If I never loved him._

Kazunari saw him slowly turning back to reality, eyes misty and sad. But when Shintarou spoke to him, his voice was little more than a whisper and far more vulnerable than the merman had ever heard it.

-          Have you ever wished, with all your might, that you were born in a different world?

Kazunari’s eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out. A little lost, as if someone had hit him on the head repeatedly, Kazunari looked at the open sea, turning his gaze toward the steep cliff and the lively village above, where people could be seen walking around, holding baskets full of laundry, fixing nets on their porch, chasing ducks, talking quietly through the windows, laughing together. And all of a sudden, young Riko’s face melted into Momoi’s, and the kids tagging each other in front of the church had Daiki’s eyes and voices and formless natural freedom. The faces of the long gone great-grandparents fused into those of their descendants and Kazunari had known them all, personally: he’d seen them, _all of them_ , every single one of them roam free through that land, fight the hardships that life had put in front of them with serene grace and silent strenght; he’d seen their quiet acceptance of a fate that, most of the time, wasn’t in their favour and the burning spirit that, despite all of it, moved them forward, always. They’d all smiled, at least once in their life. Laughed, been happy. They’d loved, fallen in love and had been loved back, one way or another. They’d chosen each other like it was the easiest thing in the world, stopped there, in the village they were born in, even if the whole world was theirs to explore. They’d hold their kids in their arms and _stayed_ with them. And now new people bloomed from those ancient roots, very similar and yet very different from those who’d come before: a rainbow of faces, attitudes, personalities, colours, souls that walked towards the same goal their fathers ha pursued and yet managed to do so in their own personal, unique way. Kazunari had watched them and loved them for the longest time, burning with the desire to reach out and _touch_ , and be touched, and pulled along.

 _The sea was beautiful and a part of him, bu_ t –he’d realized one clear morning, dashing away from a murderous mermaid that had not taken well his desire to assist her with the pregnancy of their alevin- _he wasn’t a part of it._

So when he looked back at Shintarou, it was with the eyes of someone that had been an exile his whole, long life, and when he spoke, it was with the voice of a soul that had long since found his own place in the world, but had never been able to reach it:

-          _Every single day I’ve lived on this earth._

They stared at each other for the longest of time.

 

*

 

-          You should stop coming down here, Shin-chan. It’s getting dangerous.

-          Mh.

-          Don’t make that face, it’s true: the ground crumbled right beneath your feet! And it’s going to get worse. It’s like this every year…

Shintarou mumbled something under his breath.

-          I didn’t get that, Shin-chan.

-          I said… wouldn’t you feel lonely, all by yourself until the warm season?

Kazunari chuckled, a low sound with no mirth.

-          Eh... it’s nothing I’m not used to, Shin-chan.

-          Still…

-          Promise me we’ll see each other in spring and I’ll be alright!

-          Isn’t there another secluded spot I could reach, somehow?

-          Not when the sea is rough and not when it snows. If the path is frozen, the descent from the cliff will kill you. Watch the locals and do what they do. No reckless stunts, promise.

Shintarou stayed silent.

-          I won’t be able to do anything if you hurt yourself! You can’t place that burden on me.

-          Wouldn’t you call help? If I hurt myself and the only way you could save me was to look for other people, wouldn’t you do it?

Kazunari’s eyes cut through him like knives, tainted in anger and desolation.

-          Don’t make me do it, Shin-chan.

Shintarou nodded, somberly.

-          So, this is farewell, then.

-          Only until spring comes!

Shintarou crouched down, so that he could be at eye level with the creature.

-          Will you do me a favour?

Kazunari tilted his head in confusion:

-          …sure?

-          Be safe.

-          What.

-          No close encounters with sharks. No reckless hunts. No weird games around our nets and harpoons.

Kazunari chuckled.

-          You know, I used to swim south for the cold season: see, I prefer warm waters. But now it’s already too late for me to leave, it’s a long journey and I should have gone while the leave were still red: I’m stuck here – actually, I’ve been for quite some time, now. The temperature is slightly higher at the bottom of this small pond, but coolness makes me sleepy anyway: I’d probably spend these next few months snoring in the quiet, little cave that it’s right under your feet. Lethargy is hardly dangerous.

Shintarou extended a hand. It hovered near Kazunari’s head for a split second, then the creature jerked back in surprise and looked questioningly at him:

-          Sorry. Forget it.

-          Were you trying to touch me?

-          I… yes, probably. It won’t happen again, I swear. Forgive me.

-          Why?

-          It was preposterous and arrogant on my part to take such a liberty.

-          I didn’t understand a single word you said but that’s not the point. Why did you want to touch me?

Shintarou actually considered the question.

-          I… I don’t know.

-          You humans touch each other all the time. Why?

-          I’ve never been one for physical contact, myself, but it depends. Small children need it from their mothers, for example…

-          Yeah, that doesn’t look very different from the things dolphins do with their younglings…

Shintarou arched an eyebrow and went on:

-          Sometimes it’s an act of prevarication and violence…

Kazunari snarled:

-          I’m very well acquainted with those, and it’s not what I meant! You hold hands, you touch each other’s faces, necks, shoulders. You grab each other around the waist, entangle your limbs and stay close. You brush your faces together. I’ve also seen you lying on top of one another, several times, and it looked kind of like you were trying to eat each other, but then I thought it couldn’t be, because you all looked so happy about it and who would be happy to be eaten alive?

Shintarou felt heat crawling up his neck untili t reached his ears.

-          Can you please stop talking like I was the one engaging in such acts?

-          Why? Were they bad?

The man sighed.

-          No, they weren’t. Someone would probably tell you they were, in a sense, and for a lot of different reasons, but I’m not overly fond of all those theories. People touch, yes. It’s something they… we do to stay close, to establish a contact, to show support, to share affection. Sometimes it’s very hard to convey all your feelings in a sentence, to put in words all the things you want to say… a gesture helps you. It’s a bit like talking with your whole body, like letting it speak for you. It is very effective, indeed – and it also very difficult to lie, that way.

-          What were you trying to tell me?

-          Eh?

-          You tried to touch me. What was it that you weren’t able to tell me?

-          I… I don’t know.

-          Neither do I, but I’d like to.

When the hand came, that second time, Kazunari didn’t avoid it. Instead, he closed his eyes and let out a small intake of breath when it came in touch with his cheek. Peeking through his lashes, Kazunari caught a glimpse of Shintarou’s raptured expression and slightly parted lips. The man had touched him before, far more than any human had; it had been inevitable, with Kazunari’s injuries and Shintarou’s ability to cure them, but it had been nothing like the touch he was experiencing at that moment. The hand cupping his right cheek was warm and soft, smoother than Kazunari remembered and weirdly delicate. He could feel the padded pressure of Shintarou’s digits, the slight tickle where his long, thin fingers carded through his coarse hair, the soothing and feather-like caress of his thumb, overwhelming in its gentleness and (wht was the word again?) …tenderness.

The low, quiet purr that escaped his throat was totally unintentional, and the only way Kazunari got aware of it was Shintarou’s gasp of response. He didn’t move his hand, though, and Kazunari, strangely grateful for that, opened his eyes slowly, lips stretching in a thin smile. His tail caressed the water’s surface in long, slow, hypnotic swirls. Shintarou’s next words sounded distant to him and for a long moment Kazunari thought he was really hearing them through their touch.

-          Will you be alright?

-          Of course. I’m only going to sleep.

-          Are you? Really?

-          Why would I lie about something like this?

-          It’s not that. I just thought… nevermind. I was just wondering: what do merpeople do when they’re not pestering their humans?

Something inside Kazunari’s stomach fluttered at the sound of that ‘ _their_ ’ and the merman leaned more into the caress. When he opened his mouth to answer, his words, though tinged with melancholy, were among the most honest he’d ever spoken:

-          _They wish they were_.


	7. Chapter 07

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing in the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . I am SO sorry for the late update. It seems that all I'm doing in these notes is apologize, isn't it? Whoever follows me on tumblr probably knows how busy I've been lately and how little time I've had for writing. It's not really an excuse, but you can't just avoid real life, can you? ;_;
> 
> . Speaking of tumblr: you can find me at julesdrenages.tumblr.com - if the updates just don't seem to come, there's a very high possibility I've left a post about it, somewhere there, under the tag "jules writes" or "mer!au". It's not of much help, but at least you'd know I'm not dead nor I've forgotten about the fic.
> 
> . Did I say sorry? I think I did. By the way, I'm not making promises about updates anymore: I'll keep doing my best to make them as close as possible, but my study (and not only that) schedule is so packed I want to cry. 
> 
> . Please forgive and bear with me.

They lost widow Mitobe that winter. Her health had gotten steadily worse since the end of summer and, before the year was over, it had been clear to Shintarou that she wouldn’t have been able to see the following spring.

He hadn’t resigned to that fate, it wasn’t his habit to go down without doing everything in his power to succeed, but there was no point in lying to himself and her family. It was only right to fight with all his strenght to grant the woman another day of life (and near the end, seeing her surviving yet another laboured night and open her eyes in the mornings felt, indeed, like the greatest victory), but his daily battle with the Grim Reaper (a battle that, for the same, mysterious design that ruled the whole living world, he was bound to lose) kept growing harder and harder, until nothing was left to do but pray.

Then, even that became pointless.

The ground was hard and frozen and not even burying her was an easy task. Rinnosuke didn’t close the inn, but, for weeks before and after the tragic loss, the neighbours and friends that visited didn’t come to order food or seek company, but rather to offer plenty of both. Near the end, Shintarou had moved to one of the free rooms above the widow’s one, to be at her disposal at every hour of the day and the night. When it was clear she was reaching her last moments, he’d gathered all his tools and palliatives and let the children into their mother’s room, squeezing Rinnosuke’s shoulder with a solemn nod.

Outside, Koganei Shinji was already waiting, curled up in himself against the cold.

-          Is it time, doc?

-          Aye.

-          Rinnosuke didn’t deserve this. The kids didn’t deserve this.

-          Nobody really does, but there is indeed very little we can do about it. Most of the time, everything humanly possible isn’t even nearly enough, but in the end it’s all we have.

-          “ _Everything humanly possible_ ”… that involves supporting each other too, right?

-          He’ll need you, now.

-          That’s exactly why I’m here.

*

Winter was particularly hard that year, and for different reasons: a few days after the fair in the city, snow had started to fall and hadn’t stopped for weeks. Then the temperature dropped to abysimal degrees and the pipes froze. Shintarou spent most of the time fixing his greenhouse and taking care of his winter blossoms at the best of his abilities – and whenever he wasn’t checking on frozen leaves and roots, patching his house to keep the cold out, storing water and wood as well as food, he had to divide himself between broken bones from slips, rheumathisms, and high fevers. A bad case of pneumonia at the Furihata’s scared the whole community, but young Kouki was far stronger than he looked and Shintarou was firmly intentioned to _not_ lose another patient that season, so, in the end, all went well and the boy recovered.

The days were gloomy, dark and short. The nights were cold and endless. Huge waves crashed into the cliff almost everyday, and everyday Shintarou found himself at the window, watching them with a mix of apprehension and longing he didn’t like to dwell much upon.

*

By the time spring came Shintarou felt mentally and physically exhausted. It seemed that the deities had taken pity on him, though, or maybe they had aknowledged his hard work, because with the first load of mail (the one delivered the second week of April, the very first package to reach the village since November) came a letter from Nakatani, addressed to him:

“ _Dear Shintarou,_

_This message comes after many (vane) tentatives, on my part, to communicate with you with faster and more reliable means: if my predictions are correct, you will receive this letter with the first mail of the season, which is fortunate, because that is exactly when I’ll need your answer the most._

_Your mixtures were a blessing. Bottle up as much as you can with the herbs you currently have and by all means find a way to grow more: I’m buying all you can produce and I bet word of these not invasive, though efficient cures will spread soon._

_Please, do contact me as soon as you receive this. Possibly by phone, if you have the chance. I believe we have a lot to discuss._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Masaaki Nakatani_ ”

Shintarou ran to the village’s office hoping that Shun had been finally able to restore the line after the winter’s storms.

*

A phone call and three days later, he jumped on the early morning train, casually dressed, a notebook full of his recipes, notes and complete inventary in hand.

*

A week later, he’d already talked to the villagers about his plans to finally make use of the land around his house, which, unfortunately for them, meant that the animals had to be relocated. With some cooperation from all the women and most of the children, they managed to set them up fine in one of the less productive fields. Shintarou was a little sad to see the goats go: he’d grown fond of those.

The following day, though, he was already at work, preparing the ground. After less than three hours, someone had joined him and asked if he needed any help.

Before the end of the month he’d assigned all the spots to the right plants and started growing those for which the season was proper. _Perhaps he could do it_.

*

It took him a while to finally go down The Pond again, something he was reminded of very clearly the moment he stepped on the rocky beach and went straight towards the water, looking around eagerly.

A splash of cold water hit him from apparently nowhere, but even if he was utterly drenched, Shintarou couldn’t bring himself to be angry, as he spoke:

-          I’m sure I’ve already told you that this is not the proper way to greet someone.

The voice that answered was angry, though:

-          Perhaps I didn’t _want_ to give you a proper greeting.

Shintarou was a bit taken aback. He rolled his trousers up his knees (they were already wet, yes, but it was the principle that mattered) and took a few tentative steps into the sea:

-          Kazunari?

The familiar black head emerged in front of him, just enough for those icy-blue eyes to glare at Shintarou furiously. For an awful moment, the man felt seriously scared:

-          _Where have you been_?

-          Fixing my house. Waiting for the cliff to settle properly after the snow melted. Caring for my plants, since they’re supposed to put food on my table from now on…

The merman’s eyes shone in distress and his cheeks were flushed:

-          I thought…!

Shintarou smiled:

-          What? That I had forgotten about you?

Kazunari almost sniffed at that, but saved himself at the very last second, looking to the side. Out of sheer anger, he mumbled something about Shintarou’s obsession with plants, especially those that grew on the bottom of the Pond – of course he would have cared for them as well. It took Shintarou some time to understand the reason behind such spiteful, uncoherent words, but as their meaning sank in, he placed his hands on his bent knees and leaned towards the muddy surface of the sea:

-          Kazunari. I’ve been busy with my herbs, yes, but I’ve _not_ come down here for them.

How such a huge creature was able to move that swiftly in waters so low was unbelievable, nevertheless, Shintarou suddenly felt something very big and very slimy caress his legs several times, as his ears were filled with a chirping sound that was very much a happy laugh:

-          Shin-chan!

Kazunari was swimming around him at high speed, if from hilarity or whatever merfolk-related-reason was a mystery. It was almost enough to make Shintarou lose his balance, though:

-          Kazunari! Stop it!

The merman sat up straight, still laughing, although a bit awkwardly since he had to turn uncomfortably while his fat tail rested, curled more or less loosely, around Shintarou’s calves and knees, caudal fin nudging his hands.

-          Eheh! Sorry, Shin-chan! Couldn’t help it!

Shintarou trailed his fingers over the thick scales and tickled the tender spots on the membrane that he knew were most sensitive. It earned him a playful, unwilling slap, but that was was exactly what he was looking for, so he chuckled and looked at the amused, flushed creature with a questioning gaze:

-          Let me go?

Kazunari flapped his head to the sides in obvious denial:

-          What? Why not?

The grip on his legs tightened and the creature shuddered in clear excitement:

-          I can’t.

-          What do you mean you can’t? It’s your tail.

-          But I can’t help it! Don’t you understand?

It looked a bit like the merman was struggling for with words, and there was something somehow coy in his mumbling that made Shintarou sigh in resignation and smile to himself, despite everything. He placed his hands on the fins he could reach, this time mindful of any unpleasant sensation he could cause.

-          Well, not really. But I’d like to.

Kazunari thought about it a little and slowly managed to uncurl his tail. Shintarou sat on the beach with his feet in the water and watched the merman twirl the fins around a couple of times before pushing himself out of the sea and lying beside Shintarou.

-          It happens, sometimes, when you feel something very… strongly. The tail becomes a little difficult to control. It acts a bit on its own accord. It’s useful when we meet other of our kind in the open, you know: it makes you understand their intentions, if they’re friendly and calm, of they’re ready to mate, if you’ve invaded their territory and they’re furious…

-          So, what was that? Were you angry with me, because I’m late?

Kazunari shook his head again.

-          No, not really. I’ve been, in the past month, because though I woke up late for my standards, Iwatched the weather change and get better, and yet you never came. Your fellow humans brought out their tiny boats again, went fishing every day, and you didn’t come _once_. I thought you weren’t going to visit anymore. I thought something could have happened to you, but at night there were lights on, in your house… I thought…

Shintarou placed a hand on his head like the last time they’d seen each other. Kazunari gasped softly and went quiet.

-          Remember the city I went to, before winter? The one where I got your blades? I have received good news from there: there are people that want my plants; actually, they want the medicines I make with my plants. So I went there to meet these people and discuss the details. Then I came back and realized that, in order to prepare all the mixtures they asked me, I had to grow more plants. I’ve been working very hard to make space for them and to make sure they were doing well. It took longer than expected, but it had to be my priority, because that is my job as well, and if I don’t do it properly, I can’t eat. I’m sorry I upset you, I didn’t mean to. I thought about you often, actually, though I didn’t imagine you could be so worried about me.

-          I saw the burial. Is this how you call it, yes? You humans are such _fragile_ creatures…

Shitnarou nodded.

-          Indeed, we are.

They stayed in silence for a while, Shintarou absent-mindedly playing with the creature’s coarse hair, getting re-acquainted with the features he’d (despite his pretenses of the contrary) missed so much in the past month, Kazunari facing the sky with his eyes closed, the anxiety he’d lived with in the past months dissipating and giving room to relief.

-          _I was happy_.

-          Mh?

-          The tail thing. That is something we do when we are happy to see someone: if they get close enough, we swim around each other and our tails get entangled, but you don’t have one to reciprocate, so mine just… kind of… grabbed you. I was… that happy to see you.

Shintarou’s cheeks warmed unfairly and he had to look on the opposite side, fixing his round glasses with his right hand (but not moving the left one from the creature’s head).

-          I’m glad. I was… happy too.

Kazunari sat up, eyes shining:

-          Were you? _Really_?

Shintarou nodded.

-          It’s always so hard to tell with you humans! Don’t you have a way to show this kind of feeling?

Shintarou thought about it seriously:

-          We hug.

-          What?

-          It’s called hugging. We… put our arms around the other person and pull them close to our body.

-          Mh. But you didn’t do it.

-          No, I admit I didn’t.

-          So you were not really happy to see me.

-          No, I was sincerely happy. Very happy. I’m just not good with things like these: hugs and the like.

-          Why?

Shintarou shrugged.

-          My personality and the education I was given often prevent me to act on my most basic impulses.

Kazunari frowned.

-          So you wanted to “ _hug_ ” me but didn’t because you’re too shy?

Shintarou was too busy with keeping (in vane) a striaght face to ask the creature when he’d learned the meaning of the word “shyness” and how to recognize it.

-          Don’t put words in my mouth.

-          I’m only asking.

Shitnarou gritted his teeth and clicked his tongue. He hugged his knees and rested his mouth on them, looking at the sea. After a while, he almost spat at the merman:

-          That, and you were completely wet! And too heavy.

Kazunari tried his best not to laugh, but failed.

-          Ahah! But I’m dry, now! And I can sit up! Come on, hug me now!

-          No.

-          _WHY!?_

*

Nakatani sipped his tea and glanced at Shintarou over the rim of his cup:

-          I know you didn’t ask, but I think you have to know, anyway. It’s official: _July 7th_. I’m going.

-          …thank you, sir.

*

-          You’ve been looking tired lately, Shin-chan.

-          My plants are a lot of work.

-          Perhaps you should stop coming down here so often.

-          And hear you complain about it every time? Not going to happen.

-          I mean it.

-          I said it’s _fine_ , Kazunari.

*

-          Don’t you ever get bored?

-          Bored?

-          You could swim eveyrwhere, reach all the coasts of the world, see _everything_ and even more. And yet you keep staying here…

-          So do you.

-          It’s not really the same…

-          I’ve seen the world, Shin-chan. And you know what? I grew bored with _it_.

*

-          How did you end up here, by the way?

-          What do you mean?

-          You weren’t born in this village and you didn’t stay for only a season. People from the inner land don’t buy houses in this place unless they’re escaping from something, or so they say. What were you escaping from, Shin-chan? … _Shin-chan_? …Shin-chan, don’t go!

*

-          Thank you for the update. I’ll be away until July 15th: they insisted.

Shintarou gave a neutral sound of agreement on the other end of the phone.

-          I haven’t told anyone about your alternative medications and our business, but they’ll ask about you anyway. What do I have to say?

-          …

-          _Shintarou_?

-          That I’m fine.

It almost sounded like the truth.

*

On July 7th, Shintarou took his largest wooden basket and filled his backpack with a couple of duvets, two jugs of water and some dry food. The fish he’d bought from Kiyoshi was, roughly cleaned, in the bucket. He grabbed it, as well as some dry wood and a box of matches and disappeared in the small forest before the sun had started to set.

When he reached The Pond, it wasn’t even dark, yet. Kazunari, unexpectedly, came out of the water while Shintarou was setting the small fire camp.

-          What are you doing here at this hour?

-          Waiting for the sun to set. There are flowers that bloom only with the full moon and I need to collect them while they’re completely open.

-          And what are you doing with that wood?

-          Getting ready for dinner.

-          Really? But you never eat here!

-          Weren’t you curious about our silly ways to eat fish? Shut up and listen to me.

There was something relaxing and stupidly comforting in talking endlessly to a creature that had no clue about the simplest, most basic human habits; in explaining it ( _him_ ) the reason behind every move he made. It prevented his mind from taking paths best left unwalked. It kept his thoughts away from places he didn’t belong to anymore.

-          What’s that bright thing, Shin-chan!?

-          It’s fire. It gives us light and warmth.

-          But it came out of nowhere! How did you DO it?!

-          I think this may be beyond your comprehension, for now.

-          Don’t treat me like a fool!

-          I’m not. It’s just too early for you to learn about the principles behind _fire_ , of all things.

-          Ehi, can I touch it?

-          No.

-          Come on!!! Let me touch it!

-          I said _NO_.

He made Kazunari ate roasted fish, instead, and the expression of pure bliss on that weirdly handsome face brought a sincere smile to his lips. He’d just signed himself up for a summer full of whiny dinner requests but (and Shintarou honestly marveled about it) he didn’t mind. He really _didn’t mind_. He was surprised to discover that, on the contrary, he was almost eager to do so.

This was _easy_. Easy, and comfortable and far more fulfilling than he’d thought.

-          What now, Shin-chan? It’s early: your flowers won’t bloom for several hours.

Shintarou shrugged and sat down again. Kazunari slid closer until he was at his feet:

-          _Do you want to swim_?

-          What?

-          I said: do you want to swim? The water is warm at this hour and I’ve never seen you take a swim before.

Shintarou didn’t know why he felt the need to refuse, sternly.

-          No. Impossible.

-          But why!? It’s _fun_ and you can do it! Wait… you _can_ do it, can you?

-          Of course I can! I don’t want to.

-          _Come on_! I’d walk with you gladly if I had feet!

-          …

-          _Please_ , Shin-chan? Swim with me?

Shintarou looked at the creature, the at his feet disappearing in the clear water, then at Kazunari again.

-          Fine. Just for a short while, though.

Kazunari howled in excitement.

*

-          Can you stop staring!?

Shintarou shouldn’t have felt so conscious, considering that he’d already taken his clothes off in front of Kazunari before. _But not all of them_ , the oh-so-kind voice in his head supplied, _and not out of a medical emergency_. _And not with him looking at you like that_.

And truth to be told, that was probably the worst part: Shintarou wasn’t used to be stared at so …fiercely. The glint in the merman’s eyes was positively feral, if not hungry, and the creature didn’t answer his question at all, just kept his gaze locked on him, open-mouthed. Shintarou felt very much like a piece of succulent meat and wrapped himself in one of the blankets, sitting near the dying fire. Kazunari recoiled:

-          What are you doing?! Come on! It’s warm!

Shintarou shook his head. Kazunari took in the tension coming off him in waves, the averted gaze, the slight trembling. When he spoke, his voice was small and not a little hurt.

-          Shin-chan, are you … _afraid_?

Shintarou closed his eyes and sighed, but opened them again to look at the merman:

-          I’m sorry.

Kazunari’s voice bordered on broken as he stayed still, only his head and shoulders visible above the water.

-          But… _why_?

Shintarou shrugged again, helplessly, unable to come up with the proper words to explain Kazunari the situation in a way that the creature could understand without taking offense. Kazunari closed his mouth and slipped under the surface without making a sound. Shintarou took his head in his hands.

*

An hour later, the sun had set almost completely and the sea was turning dark. Kazunari had not come out again and Shintarou was feeling conflicted. He had been in the sea with the merman before, and at a time in which the creature was most unpredictable, on top of that – and nothing had happened. If Kazunari had indeed wanted to wring his neck and dine with him, he could have done so ages before. Even though that tail was impressive and those teeth threatening, Shintarou had the irrational, illogic belief that Kazunari would have _not_ harmed him. That didn’t really solve the problem, though: the ocean was huge and dark, full of dangerous creatures that could slip past him any time ( _but this small pool is safe_ , said again his rational mind) and he was going to be in the middle of all that, completely naked, completely blind (because he couldn’t afford to lose his glasses and would have to leave them on the shore), completely _vulnerable_. Having to rely completely on someone else. Trusting his life to someone he had absolutely no control over. It _terrified_ him.

But it had terrified Kazunari as well, at first, and look how far they’d gone in less than a year. Shintarou scooted closer to the water, blanket still around his shoulders, and looked at the sky. Weren’t birthdays times for new resolutions and promises of changes? And wasn’t _that_ specific birthday the best one for a new, well, birth? Not taking his eyes off the full moon, Shintarou folded the blanket neatly and placed it where the waves couldn’t reach it, put his glasses on top of it and stepped in the sea.

The water was warm, indeed, and its caress felt great. Shintarou kept walking until it reached his navel and at that point he stopped and waited until the surface was perfectly still again, before calling timidly:

-          Kazunari?

And not even a minute after he’d spoken, the orange tail grazed the surface and the black head of the merman appeared in front of him. It was a bit hard to see Kazunari’s expression without lenses, but Shintarou knew it wasn’t really a good one.

-          I think I am still a little afraid. But not of you. _Never of you_.

Kazunari watched him with clouded eyes for the longest moment and finally took his extended hand with a silent nod.

*

-          Is this the best you humans have come up with?

-          Given the limitations of our bodies, this is a perfectly _efficient_ swimming technique.

-          You’re slow.

-          I don’t need to be _fast_ , I need to be able to _survive_.

-          It looks stupid.

-          Now, do you know what _you_ look like when you move on land!?

-          Ehi! I don’t have legs!

-          Well, it’s not like I have _fins_.

*

-          This is no fun, _jump on_!

-          What.

-          Let’s go faster, hold onto me.

-          I don’t think it’s a good idea.

-          …do you trust me at all, Shin-chan?

Shintarou nodded. Kazunari beamed.

-          _Let’s play, then_!

*

Shintarou didn’t know how much time had passed, just that he was breathless and exhausted and utterly relaxed. His feet touched weedy rocks and he realized that Kazunari had stopped beside the big, flat one in the middle of the Pond.

-          Let’s rest, Shin-chan, you look tired.

He nodded in response and Kazunari stopped beside him, tail reflexively curling around Shintarou’s legs and hips. The man looked at him curiously and the creature snickered, embarassed, but didn’t move. Then, he smiled, although with a tinge of sadness:

-          Swimming together is fun, isn’t it?

Shintarou blamed it on the adrenaline and his altered state of mind. There couldn’t be any other reason for him to turn towards the merman, gently grab his wrists and guide his arms around himself, pulling him slowly forward until the creature’s head was resting on his shoulder and Shintarou’s own arms could encircle his back and waist. Kazunari’s breath itched and his heart thumped against his chest. He went awfully still and Shintarou cleared his voice, self-conscious, but spoke softly:

-          You wanted to know what a hug was, right? This is a hug. Thank you for the swimming lesson.

Kazunari was uncharacteristically pliant and unmoving in his arms, almost boneless in his uncertainty. The voice he spoke with was high-pitched and no louder than a tiny whisper:

-          What am I supposed to do?

-          …hug back, if you want to, which means holding onto me a bit tighter. Or just lean into it and make yourself comfortable. Or run away, if you don’t like it at all.

The hands on his back and shoulders gripped him fiercely.

-          …mind your nails, though. I think you just scratched me pretty badly.

-          I’m sorry! Let me see!

-          Sh. It’s fine. Actually, it happens far more often than you’d believe…

*

Kazunari’s mind was a mess. This was the closest he’d ever come to a human in his whole, long life and he felt so overwhelmed that he wanted to cry. Shintarou’s body was warm and his arms strong; it was the first time anyone had held him close like that, supported his weight so that he didn’t have to balance himself and he felt sheltered and protected and safe – the kind of reassurance that came with knowing that you were not alone in the world, that there was someone you could run to when everything became too much and you didn’t feel like standing up for yourself, when you wanted to give up thinking for a while, someone that could take care of you and allow you to relax for once, because they would have thought of everything.

Shintarou’s skin was soft and smooth and nothing like Kazunari’s palmed hands and thick, slippery skin had ever touched. It sent weird shivers down his body, awakening sensations that Kazunari had long since last felt. Shintarou’s chest moved under the rhythm of his breathing, something Kazunari found utterly fascinating, and his heartbeat was loud and steady, and it spoke to Kazunari like the liveliest melody.

It was closure like he’d never felt, most intimate than the urgent mating he’d occasionally had and more tender than anything his mother had ever done to him and Kazunari could just bask in it and suck it all in like an eager sponge, trying to make up for years of loss and wishing, in the deepest corner of his mind, that it never ended.

Shintarou noticed the merman’s tears before the creature itself, but didn’t point them out. He just adjusted their position so that Kazunari could hide in the crook of his neck (and he did, instinctively) and he was able to pet his hair. Like this, with the water supporting most of the merman’s weight, holding him required little to no effort and Shintarou had time to appreciate how small he felt in his arms and how well he fit there. In the silence that followed, he tried hard to find an answer, a logical one at least, for his impulsive decision, but he found none, and the meaning behind that was far more scarier than the gesture itself. Shintarou kept stroking the creature’s head absent-mindedly, mindful of the sensitive, oddly shaped ears, until, after what felt like an eternity, he pushed back the black locks that fell on Kazunari’s face and kissed his forehead. The merman stopped breathing and sobbed harder, arms tightening around Shintarou, tail wrapping strongly around him, so much that Shintarou was taken off-guard and lost his balance, slipping under water and bringing the creature down with him.

They came out instantly, Kazunari puzzled, Shintarou coughing for the water he’d breathed in, and searched each other’s gaze: the man was flustered and embarassed, the creature red-eyed and shaken.

-          Sorry. _Sorry_! It was an accident!

Shintarou held up a hand and coughed harder. Kazunari’s plea bordered on desperate.

-          Can we… can you… just a little more. _Please_?

Shintarou, hand still high, splashed a bit towards the flat rock and the ones beneath it until he found one he could sit on without emerging too much from the water: enough to breathe comfortably, not enough to get cold in the air of the night. Once he was settled, still sputtering a little, he beckoned Kazunari over. The merman sprinted forward and collided with his chest, knocking air out of him. Before Shintarou was ready, the creature had curled up in his arms again.

-          Just a little more, Shin-chan, _I swear_.

-          …it’s fine.

And it was. He let the merman cling to him, looking at the moon. The stars were too blurred for Shintarou to discern them clearly, but he knew where to look for constellations and from that position, they were simply beautiful.

-          Shin-chan.

-          Yes?

-          That thing you did, just before I tripped you… what was that?

-          …it’s called a kiss.

-          And what is it?

-          ….something we do when we…

Shintarou swallowed.

-          Is it a bad thing?

-          Quite the contrary. It’s something to give to the ones you hold dearest, whatever the reason.

-          _For real_?

-          Yes, for real.

-          And you… gave a kiss… to _me_?

-          …so it seems.

He was definitely not used to the creature’s tears, Kazunari himself wasn’t prepared for the big, fat drops that rolled down his cheeks endlessly, years of solitude and regret and loneliness pouring out of his body in waves as he glowed in relief and happiness and Shintarou filled his withered heart with every soft touch of lips, every caress of his hands, every soothing whisper.

And then, Shintarou felt the creature shift a bit and chapped, hard lips brushed his collarbone and trailed left and right without breaking contact. It tickled a little but that wasn’t the reason he spoke.

-          What are you doing?

Kazunari stopped and looked at him briefly, before lowering his eyes to speak to Shintarou’s skin, blushing furiously:

-          I’m… kissing you?

It was cute. It was tender. It filled Shintarou’s broken, arid heart with a warmth he’d long since felt.

-          Come up here… I’ll teach you how it’s done.

*

-          Today it’s my birthday.

-          What does it mean?

-          That today is the anniversary of the day I was born. I came into the world twenty-one years ago, on this day.

-          It’s a happy thing, then.

-          A reminder of the steady passing of time. But a celebration, mostly.

-          …I don’t know what day I was born in.

-          Then just pick the one you prefer.

-          I’ll think about it.

*

-          There’s a legend about this night, in places far from here: two deities were so in love with each other that they spent all their time together, neglecting their duties, so the Sky King separated them across the Milky Way. But the goddess was his daughter, and she was so distraught from the forced parting that her Father took pity of her and allowed them to meet once a year. In this night, magpies come to her aid and help her cross the starry river and reach her beloved on the other side. And tonight is the night. See? They’re closer than ever.

-          It’s a nice story. Though I think it’s sad that they can only meet like that.

-          It’s a legend. Tragic love stories hold a lot of power over humans.

-          You’re a romantic lot.

-          Mph.

-          Don’t frown. I think it’s a nice trait.

Kazunari stared at the full moon above him, his back to Shintarou’s chest, tail drawing circles on the flat surface of the black water.

-          We have legends, too.

-          Do you?

-          Yes. They involve you humans, sometimes, but the one I was thinking about refers to nights like this one…

-          Would you like to tell me?

Kazunari held onto his arms and looked directly at the silvery orb, unblinking:

-          Int he deepest abyss, up north, where the waters are freezing and pitch black, well, there lives a Sea Witch. Very few merpeople have seen her, even less made return and those who did were never the same. Nobody ever remembered what she looked like. Someone says she’s our Mother, the one that generated merpeople ages ago, and perhaps it’s true, that we’re all her children. She never comes out of her den and nobody knows what she eats, maybe she doesn’t have to. She knows magic ancient as time itself and likes to play with it: maybe we were born after one of her jolly experiments, though that can be said for many other beings – she’s released in the world monsters that you named Leviathan and Kracken, sea serpents whose head is as big as your houses and giant squids that sink your boats…

-          They exist!?

-          I’ve never seen them, personally. Not the biggest ones, at least. I’d rather not swim in those waters. But I know they’re there. She’s not evil, though. The Sea Witch, I mean. In fact, in nights like this, when the moon is at its fullest, she receives the brave souls that are able to reach her halls and grant their greatest wish, whatever it is. She demands payment, of course, but it’s usually something you can afford to lose – it has to be something precious and unique, and it’s a test to your resolve: if you’re not ready to sacrify everything for your dream, she won’t fulfill your request.

-          Did you ever… wished to see her?

-          I’ve thought about it several times, but I guess my will wasn’t that strong. The journey towards her den was… frightening. You have no idea what it looks like, down there…

-          What did you want to ask?

-          …please don’t make me say it.

-          Alright. As you wish.

*

-          _Love_.

-          What?

-          You asked me what I escaped from, once. _Love_. I was in love with a man, but we couldn’t stay together.

-          Why?

-          Because the human world has rules that go beyond its comprehension. If I had stayed, we would have both gone mad and died. So I did what seemed best at the moment and fled.

-          I’m glad.

-          Mh?

-          Well, I’m not glad that you suffered, it must have hurt a lot. But if things had gone differently, you would have never come here, and I would have never met you. That blue shark would have probably killed me and if not it, than loneliness would have. I’m glad you came here. I’m glad I met you. I’m glad I trusted you. I’m glad you’re here with me, right now.

Shintarou kissed his forehead again:

-          _I’m glad, too_.

It was true.

*

-          Shin-chan, your hands are all wrinkled.

-          It happens when we stay in the water for too long. It’d be better for me to get out.

-          Mh.

-          Besides, it’s getting cold.

-          Mh.

-          Kazunari…

-          Hold onto me, alright? I’m making a last trick and then I’ll bring you to the beach!

-          …fine.

*

There was something ineherently wrong with stepping out of the water (on not so steady legs) and leave Kazunari behind, beached on the rocky shore, eyes fixed on Shintarou’s every move. The man did a quick job of drying hmself and putting on some comfortable, dry clothes; he sat on a blanket where the ground was softer and kept another duvet wrapped tightly around himself.

-          You looked better without all those things on.

-          I don’t want to get sick. Actually, I should light the fire again.

-          You are definitely too frail.

-          Yes but… it makes it worth living, doesn’t it? Knowing that it could be so easy for it to end…

Kazunari sounded sick:

-          Don’t say such things.

Shintarou let it drop and brought the small fire closer to the water, just out of the ocean’s reach. Kazunari tricked him into touching the flames, but learned quickly not to play with them and Shintarou had a hard time trying to explain him why _that hurt_. There was physical contact involved, though, so the merman didn’t complain. _Much_.

*

At long last, Shintarou’s eyes started to drop and Kazunari forced him to lay down and sleep, and grab a third blanket, just to be safe. The man complied and settled down beside the fire, as close to the sea as he could. The tide was not going to grow before late in the morning, so he shouldn’t have had problems. Kazunari took the silent hint and pushed himself as up on the shore as he could, until he was face to face with Shintarou.

-          Do you want to sleep, too?

-          There’s not much else to do if you’re not awake. And I’d rather stay here.

-          Alright.

-          Can we keep talking?

-          Sure. But don’t take offense if I fall asleep in the meantime, please.

-          I won’t.

 

-          Shin-chan?

-          Yes?

-          Can I… can we… touch a little more? Like before?

After a long, pregnant silence, Shintarou just opened his arms. Kazunari rolled near him, mindful not to get the man wet again.

Later that night, when Shintarou had finally succumbed to slumber, Kazunari listened to his even breathing with an aching heart, his mind spinning. The man had still an arm draped over his waist and its warmth seeped through his thick clothes and Kazunari’s coarse skin, pooling in the merman’s belly and doing very funny things to his primal reactions. Shintarou smelled of salt, fish and smoke, though there was something else beneath those heavy scents that Kazunari couldn’t name, but that made him dizzy all the same, breath catching in his throat. Overwhelmed and barely able to control himself, the merman lifted a palmed hand to Shintarou’s hair, so different under his fingers now that it was dry, soft despite the salt. The membrane between his digits didn’t allow him to play with the long strands as he wanted to (as Shintarou had done with his) and Kazunari felt a wave of angry frustration build inside him: it almost made him scream, but he kept himself in check for the sake of the sleeping man. His tail hit the water with too much force, though.

Shintarou’s face as he slept was calm and serene, and Kazunari couldn’t help but trail his fingers over the thin lips, the straight nose, the smooth cheeks. He followed the jaw line and felt the strong pulse at Shintarou’s neck, going lower after a couple of minutes and restinghis hand between the collarbones, where two buttons of the man’s shirt were open, exposing his skin. A lump in his throat, Kazunari lightly brought his lips forward in the way Shintarou had showed him and placed them in all the spots his fingers had touched, lingering as much as he could to savour every istant. Shintarou’s words echoed in his head as he kept kissing him over and over again: _“…it’s something we do to the ones we hold dearest...”_ – and there was no way he could stop the tears from coming again, nothing to do except burying himself in his human’s chest and wait for the storm to pass. Huddled together with the man that had stolen his heart, blanket draped over both of them and on the verge of sleep, Kazunari could almost pretend he had legs as well.

When that thought formed in his mind, he knew he was _doomed_.

Shintarou didn’t stir when he felt the merman’s hands on him, nord id he gave any sign of wakefulness when the creature started kissing hima gain. He was startled at the sound of crying and gritted his teeth at the feeling of hot, wet tears on his skin, but Kazunari was too lost in his sorrow to notice. Shintarou curled more aroundthe shaking body in his arms, fully aware of the awful consequences his actions were going to have. Dread settled in his bone sas he kissed the top of Kazunari’s head and held the precious creature as close as he could, wondering how and why and when he’d managed to dig his way into his heart and fill it so easily, and how could he, Shintarou, had let it happen all over again. The merman clung to him like a drowning man, _how ironic_ , and Shintarou had all the answers laid in front of him, along with the awful truth.

_He was doomed._

 


	8. Chapter 08

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- I want to be a human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . It's still MidoTaka Day on my side of the world! I'm on time!
> 
> . ...though maybe this is not really the best way to celebrate it.
> 
> . I'm not extremely happy with this chapter, but the past week emotionally destroyed me for several different reasons and I couldn't bring myself to start this from scrap again. Sorry.

Kazunari was doomed and he knew it. He also knew he was being ridiculous, and clingy, but the truth was, he couldn’t have enough.

It was a bit like living a whole new life in a whole new dimension, the past a dull grey ensemble of indistinct memories. It felt like the world had changed colour, all of a sudden: it was richer, neater, more vibrant and, overall, more lively.

Kazunari felt _alive_ : he was suddenly more aware of his pounding heart, the flow of his blood, the spasms of his gills, the fatigue in his muscles. The caress of the water as he swam relentlessly was new in its familiarity and, more often than not, it felt like a prison. There was no Shin-chan at the bottom of the sea. There was noone, at the bottom of the sea. …but as soon as those dark thoughts crept up at the back of his mind, Kazunari had sprinted forward, plenty of energy to spare, and swum around the bay multiple times, scanning all the tiny figures visible on top of the cliff with affection, trying to get a glimpse of the one he’d come to consider his human. Shintarou’s house had its back to the ocean: it was easy to spot but remained mostly hidden from view and the man himself spent most of the time in the front yard, where he had his small field of plants. Sometimes he went to the back to retrieve a missing tool (Kazunari could see him complaining about the misplaced objects) and sometimes other people went to see him with pained faces, or rushed to call him with no little amount of anxiety in their features. Shin-chan stood out in the crowd, and it wasn’t just Kazunari’s biais: he blended in when time called for action (and wasn’t it a spectacle, to see him run from one side of the village to the other, long legs in motion, sheer determination etched in his handsome face), but he tended to stay aside when emergencies died out and it was time to idle chatter and harmless company. More than once Kazunari had watched him push his glasses up and hide behind his hand, tense slightly at the closeness of a boisterous woman that smacked his shoulder, build a wall of silence when he didn’t know what to say, or how to respond. _There’s something missing_ , the creature had thought, and then a second later a hole in his chest had opened as his mind lend him the answer:

 _I am missing. My arm around his waist. My hand on his shoulder. My voice to break the silence. My laugh to calm him down_.

He dived at the bottom of the bay, when the thought arose, and holding his head between his hands, he swam with closed eyes until either a hit or exhaustion cleared his mind.

 

*

 

Shintarou knew perfectly well that indulging the creature was the very worst thing he could do, but he couldn’t help himself. The clingy merman was so genuinely touch-starved that just the thought of refusing him that small comfort was heartbreaking. And if he was honest with himself (which he rarely did), it was an indulgence on Shintarou’s part as well – because nobody had ever needed him in that way before, nobody had ever _wanted_ him before, and it felt… good.

Kazunari waited for _him_. Kazunari sought contact from _him_. Kazunari had picked him with no intention to let go and it was… overwhelming.

Because dependance apart, he really looked forward to his daily meetings with the creature, positively the only moments of the day his shoulders could relax and he could take a sigh of relief. There was a soothing power in the merman’s laugh, a relieving force in his flowing voice, an energy in his casual touches that recharged Shintarou’s batteries with an efficiency that didn’t weight on him in the slightest.

Sometimes, as he turned around in his bed unable to catch sleep, Shintarou’s hands itched with the urge to hold onto something, and it was with sheer horror that his mind supplied Kazunari’s image, night after night. Stomach turned into a block of ice, face buried in his palms, Shintarou had tried countless times to not wish for Kazunari’s presence in his daily life, but the more he told himself it couldn’t be, the more his thoughts flew to pictures of Kazunari watering his herbs with him, eating roasted squids and finding them duller than the raw ones he was so fond of, enchanting everyone with his contagious laughter and warm smiles, curling up in his bed, tangling _legs_ (and not a _tail_ ) with Shintarou’s own…

But he was a man of science, before anything else, and even though the mere existence of a merman was a wonder in itself, not to mention a slap in the face to all the scientists that deemed it biologically impossible, the nature of Kazunari’s body was one and unchangeable.

He had gills. He had fins. He had sharp teeth and palmed hands. He had a tail as thick as Shintarou’s midsection and as long as he was tall. And those weren’t features that a wish or an operation of any sort could change.

Kazunari was a creature that had lived for centuries. Yet he had the pure heart of a kind-hearted, joyful young man. He shouldered the weight of hundreds of years of loneliness and wildness. Yet he was docile most of the time, approachable and easygoing. He had killed people with his bare hands, people (beings that belonged to a different species) that had threatened him for what he was. Yet thos esame hands handled Shintarou with the delicacy   of a feather, or the caress of the water itself. Not once his fangs had got in the way of his kisses, not once his tail had hurt Shintarou, despite its unpredictability.

Kazunari’s past was clear behind his eyes, eyes that saw everything and made shintarou feel bare, but in a comfortable, safe way that almost made him hope for a miracle, wish for the impossible to happen, ask for the favour of that Fate he so strongly believed in.

But he was a practical man, used to deal with the helpless, human side of the world, and as such he just knew (as painful as it was) that there were things simply _not_ meant to be.

 

*

 

It was _easy_ , though, for Kazunari to push the bad thoughts aside and revel in that new found happiness, when Shintarou walked ad climbed the steep path to the Pond, when he greeted him with a smile and met his halfway through the shore, when he accepted Kazunari’s tail around himself and gave in to Kazunari’s requests for one more hug, one more kiss, with feigned annoyance. It was easy to keep the sadness at bay when Shintarou’s eyes were so vibrant and so green behind the lenses, when his body was so close and always so warm, when he filled his baskets with leaves, roots and flowers, sometimes letting Kazunari help with the seaweeds and the few bushes he could reach, when he talked for hours about this plant and the other, and why one should have been used to cure a cold while the other was better to secure sleep.

It was very _hard_ , for Shintarou, to keep his thoughts from turning blue as Kazunari greeted him with noisy splashes ì, as he extended his palms towards him to be helped out of the water, as Shintarou’s palms came in touch with his sleek skin, as a tail much more heavy than it looked coiled around his legs in affection, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Because as destructive as it was, Shintarou simply couldn’t give it up.

 

*

 

-          Is this red seaweed that necessary to you?

-          It’s an effective component of one of my remedies: it has many properties I’d like to test, but I need a big amount of it to obtain the required doses for all the mixtures and my experiments.

-          There’s some around the flat rock.

-          Yes, and we took almost all of that. I’d like to leave some: if I take it alla way there won’t be more for the next season. Have you seen it somewhere else?

-          I don’t remember, but I can look for it. …how far can I go?

-          A place I can reach by boat should be fine, I suppose. Also, a place where I can pick it up comfortably. No deeper than …three meters, deal?

-          What!?

-          It shouldn’t even grow, more than three meters underwater!

-          But I could pick it for you.

-          You’re far too messy for suck a minute job. No.

Kazunari rolled his eyes dramatically and headed towards his quest with a laugh.

 

*

 

-          I think I’ve found it.

-          Really? Where should I go?

-          There’s a circle of rocks, west from here. Some of them peek out of the water, but most don’t: they’re just below the surface, you could walk on them and wet your knees at most. They’re covered in that red thing, so I think it’s perfect. But it’s a bit far.

-          Do you thin I could row there?

-          You are not going anywhere on a boat on your own. You know nothing about these currents and it’s dangerous.

-          But I can’t ask the fishermen to bring me to such a specific place: they’ll ask how I knew about it.

-          I’m bringing you.

-          Eh?

 

*

 

-          Care to tell me where you found this?

-          It’s been stuck on a cliff for years, nobosy came to retrieve it, so I took it.

-          How did you get it in here? There’s no opening…

-          Yes, there are. Between those two big wings there are some narrow passages, on the surface. But they’re dangerous, you risk getting stuck in between them. This small boat though is thin enough to get through them, if you guide it carefully.

-          Are you sure it won’t fall apart as soon as I step in?

-          Well, we just have to try, don’t we? Jump in, Shin-chan! I’m taking you for a ride around our small bay!

 

-          It seems safe enough.

-          Yeah, just... avoid speeding up, alright?

-          You are definitely no fun, Shin-chan.

 

*

 

-          I can’t believe I agreed to this.

-          Sit down, Shin-chan, we’re leaving!

Getting out of the Pond, where they could leave undisturbed and out of prying eyes, was a complicated process. Kazunari had been right: the boat could float through the rocks, but a person on board made the maneuver more difficult; they had to work together to avoid nasty hits on the sides or scraping the bottom of the boat into the sharp rocks beneath.

Shintarou felt a bit out of breath at the sight of the ocean opening in front of him, awfully small in the tiny mass of wood he was currently and precariously sitting in. Water hit him in the face and he turned to see Kazunari at his side, head and shoulders above the surface, speaking softly:

-          Don’t tire yourself. I twill take a bit to get there. Rest.

Shintarou did just that: he laid back at the stern of the boat, the basket he’d brought to collect the weeds mildly balanced above his head to shield him from the scorching sun, and closed his eyes. He had just the time to feel the ghost of Kazunari’s lips touch his cheek before the boat started moving forward, slowly. The faint rocking motion lulled him to a peaceful slumber not much after.

Later, he woke up and started fidgeting again, but managed to calm down by looking at his close surroundings: Kazunari’s tail was longer than the boat – resting his crossed elbows on the sill and leaning forward, Shintarou could see the bright caudal fin waving back and forth, iridiscent in the light, moving them forward with a rhythm as ancient as life itself. Nobody could have guesses there was a human-like brain to set it into motion…

The heat was strong, so he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and put his wrists in the water, fingers barely grazind the big tail, lips curled in a fond smile he couldn’t avoid.

 

*

 

-          Right in front of us, Shin-chan!

There were, indeed, four or five rocks coming out from the water in a wide, irregular circle. The low water inside said circle looked clear, while right outside of it, not even a meter away, it went deep all of a sudden and hence had a dark blue shade.

A carpet of red seaweeds covered the rocks they were heading towards, and Kazunari brought the boat as close to the small atoll as he could, until it was safe for Shintarou to hop down without sinking. The man anchored the small craft and, eyes sparkling, thanked the merman for both the ride and the lucky discover, wasting no time and starting collecting samples on the spot.

Kazunari swam around the rocks merrily, sometimes helping Shintarou pulling out a bunch of nasty weeds, more often sprinting in different directions and jumping high out of the water with a waterfall of splashes, other times diving out of sight and coming out a minute or two later with a huge iridiscent fish in his arms, a lively crab as big as his face to show off, a wide oyster to share for lunch. Shintarou rolled his eyes at several of them, but was genuinely interested in others, curiosity winning over mannerism.

Kazunari had never felt more proud of his origins before.

 

*

 

When the boat was as full of seaweeds as it could and Shintarou was sure he could still fit in there, too, he let the creature persuade him into playing for a while. It was just the two of them in the middle of the ocean, the man thought as he carefully moved around the slippery rocks to avoid Kazunari’s swift, playful splashes, as the merman let himself get caught and stole kiss after kiss, as (still clothed) he was pulled around like he weighted nothing and shown shellfish and jellyfish he’d only seen in books - … _what could possibly go wrong?_

*

 

They were eating raw sea urchins when Kazunari spoke. Shintarou was sitting on a rock with his feet in the water, taking spoonfuls of tender meat from the opened shell, carefully balancing i tinto his hand to avoid its pointed prickles. Kazunari, perched on the closest, slightly higher rock, was doing the same, though in a far less refined manner.

-          Shin-chan.

-          Yes?

-          Remember that thing I told you at the beginning of the summer? The legend.

It had been almost two months before, but of course he remembered.

-          It was a good story.

-          I’m thinking about going to look for her. The Sea Witch, I mean.

What was left of Shintarou’s lunch fell in the water without a sound and quickly disappeared from view, swallowed from the abyss beneath their feet. Shintarou felt suddenly very cold.

-          No, you’re not.

-          Actually, yes, I am. It is… difficult to explain. It feels like a …pull, I guess? A constant tug on my heart. A call that is becoming hard to resist.

-          You told me you had already tried to go there, but you didn’t succeed.

-          I couldn’t find the entrance to her den. But I was on the right path.

-          How do you even _know_?!

-          I knew. And there were… things in those waters that could only mean she was close.

-          You’re delusional.

-          Don’t belittle me just because I’m speaking of things you are not able to understand. Do not forget who I am, Shin-chan: if I tell you that _I knew_ , I did.

-          Yet you still weren’t successful, in the end.

-          I lacked the resolve. I had no clear idea what to wish for.

-          And you do, now?

-          _Yes_.

It hanged in the air between them, clear as the sea, but it needed to be said out loud, at least once, and indeed Kazunari broke the silence in the end, leaning backwards and gazing up at the blue sky.

-          _I want to be a human._

Shintarou felt sick.

-          …and you expect a legendary fairy of the sea to turn you into one with a flick of her wand?

-          What do _you_ know. What do _you_ know of the mysteries of the world, to be so dismissive about them? There are forces in this world, _Shin-chan_ , so powerful you’d get _mad_ only _thinking_ about them: don’t assume your so entitled _human knowledge_ is even remotely enough for you to understand this universe, or the way _I_ was created to perceive it. _It’s not_ your _place to question what I do or do not_ know.

-          What about _humans_ , then. How do you know you want to be one so badly?

-          I’ve wanted nothing else since the first time I saw your kin on these shores, centuries ago.

-          But it was never enough to push you to this madness!

-          That’s because I hadn’t met _you_ , yet!

Shintarou’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest. Or shatter into a million pieces, which was just the same, at that point.

-          And what changed, then? You still know _nothing_ about humans.

-          I’ve been watching you for generations.

-          _Exactly_! If you turned into a human you’ll be _dead_ in less than sixty years, at the very most!

-          I know. I’m ready.

-          _No, you’re not_! Of course you’re not! Nobody is, ever! Not a merman who has spent centuries with the prowess and the energy of a youth! Your body will fall apart little by little, it will be a slow, unstoppable process that will already be started by the time you’ll move your first step. You’ll wake up one day and realize there’s a pain in your hip that you don’t remember _not_ having, and it will _never_ go away, only grow stronger. You’ll open your eyes one morning and discover you can’t make out the cracks on the ceiling anymore. You’ll try to grab a cup by its handle one evening and watch your deformed, arthritic hand fail, wondering _when did it happen, how could you let it happen and where did the last years go_. You’ll spend the last days of your life on an uncomfortable bed thinking about all the things you could do, all the things you could have seen and done and didn’t, regretting your whimsical choice and without even remembering what it was that pushed you towards such madness in the first place, tempted you into giving up the ocean for _illness. Decay. Blindness. Death_.

-          You make it sound like it’s awful.

-          _It is_. We are _miserable_.

-          But you are _happy_ , too.

-          Because that’s what we do: take comfort in the smallest of things. Well, the lucky ones, do. Not everyone manages, not really. Can’t you see that that’s the only way we can cope? We come to this world knowing that the most trivial accidents could take us away: the cold, the heat, a fall, a hit in the right place, an invisible bacterium, heartbreak. We know we’ll go, one way or another, and we know it won’t take long, anyway. _But you don’t_. You have already outlived hundreds of humans. You have _seen_ how fragile we are but you’ve always been looking at us like a _merman_. You think you understand, but you don’t. You can’t. You were not born with this awareness. _You were not born this way_.

-          I wish I was.

-          No, _YOU DON’T_!

-          _STOP ASSUMING_! Just because I’m telling you all of ths now it doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it before! What do _you know_ , then, of what has been like being a merman, for me? You have no idea how _awful_ my life has been up until now! You can’t judge me for searching a way out! I _know_ what I want, and _I’ve known since I met you_ : I want to be with you, I want to stay with you always! I want to be able to climb that rocky path up and down with you. I want to crouch down and uproot plants with you, want you to teach me how. I want to sit with you at your table and eat the things you do, the way you do it, cook them with you on the fire. I want to sleep with you on your mattress, touch your feet with mine. I want to talk to other people, do the things that they do. _But I want to do them with you_.

 

-          And who told you _I_ ’d want that?

-          …what?

-          You are the one assuming things, now. _I’ve never said I wanted to be with you._

-          But…

-          Who told you I’d take care of you, if you turned human?

-          You…

-          I never agreed to spending the rest of my life with you.

-          Shin-chan…

-          I never said I felt something for you.

-          _YOU KISSED ME_!

-          …and?

-          You hugged me! You _HELD_ me! You let me kiss you and you said-

-          … _that we do it all the time, to people we hold dearest_. I know what I said. It doesn’t mean I want you with me. I don’t, actually.

-          You…

-          Did you think otherwise?

 

A merman’s tail was a powerful organ: thick, heavy and filled with strong muscles. It was the most reliable part of a merman’s anatomy, and yet the most unpredictable at the same time. It was their first instrument of defense, their first mean of communication and their most threatening weapon.

Shintarou didn’t notice the angry twitches of Kazunari’s tail untili t was too late. Kazunari didn’t, either, too stunned and devastated in his grief.

When the last words stumbled out of Shintarou’s mouth, the creature snapped.

In the fraction of a second, the merman twirled on himself with an anguished wail and lost his balance, stumbling down the rock he was sitting on, falling in the low water and curling on the red carpet of seaweeds. He didn’t see his tail slamming at full force against Shintarou’s chest, didn’t see the man fly over the rocks in a high arc, air knocked out of his lungs s suddenly that he didn’t have the chance to shout, didn’t hear the loud splash that followed as he sank, unconscious, in the dark, deep waters underneath.

Head between his hands, Kazunari screamed and cried out for the longest time, heart crushed beyond repair, betrayed in the worst way he could have ever imagined and positively murderous – if the mad, furious thrashing of his tail was accountable.

He got up with red eyes, view blurried by burning tears, firmly intentioned to tear Shintarou’s throat open with his ownfangs and swim straight into a shark’s mouth, afterwards, but when he straightened his back with an awful cry, there was no human around.

He stopped and breathed in two times. Three. Four. Five. Nothing happened. His blood cooled down a bit, though, mind clearing just enough for him to look around critically. There was no one.

-          … _Shin-chan_?

The boat was still where they’d anchored it. The seaweeds too. The-

Something glistened under the water’s surface, at the outer side of the reef, perched on the very last outcrop of rock before the abyss began. It trembled slightly, at the mercy of the current, reflected the sunlight one last time and then it disappeared in the deep waters.

Shintarou’s spectacles.

A whole new feelinf, far more terrible, far more scarier than the previous one, took possession of Kazunari’s entire being and he all but jumped over the reef himself and plunged head first into the abyss, mind blank except for one thought alone.

_Shin-chan!_

 

It hadn’t taken much to spot him, not with Kazunari’s eyes and his speed, but even after the merman had swum back up to the surface as fast as he could, the freezing dread that had pooled in his stomach didn’t waver, because the awful truth was that Shintarou was not breathing. And Kazunari didn’t know what to do.

For too many, too long, too horrible seconds Kazunari just stayed there, dead still in the very middle of the ocean, holding the too light, too still, too limp body of the man he loved (the man he had hit) to his chest, head cradled in his hand, face in the crook of his neck, trying to process everything and calm down enough to force his brain to move again.

There was only one thing to do, though, for a merman that, despite the strenght of his feelings, little knew about the complicated processes that kept a human body alive: with a light, blessing kiss on Shintarou’s forehead, he made sure to hold the man’s head above the surface and dashed back towards the village as if Death itself was on his heels. Perhaps it was.

He all but hit the desert shore, exhausted and panting for breath. Carefully, Kazunari rolled Shintarou on his back, beside him, and tried to find a sign, any sign, of life still in him. Because if Shintarou was _dead_ , if Kazunari had _killed_ him in an irate outburst, nothing would have ever made sense anymore.

Shintarou’s face was pale in a sick, ugly kind of way and he didn’t move. Kazunari could just lay there, half-sprawled on top of him, looking for the smallest flutter of lashes, the faintest shiver, anything…

Vision blurred by tears again, though of a whole different kind and for some reason much more painful, body already wrecked by sobs, he lowered himself on Shintarou’s chest, more miserable than he’d ever felt in his whole life, uncaring of the howls of agony that were leaving his throat, already giving in to the numbness that was spreading through his heart.

_His heart._

Shintarou’s heart, although faintly and arhythmically, was still _beating_.

Buti t wasn’t enough, as wonderful as it sounded. Not enough to push the fear of losing him away, not enough for Kazunari to feel relieved, not enough for both of them to be alright.

Clawing desperately at Shintarou’s chest and neck, gasping as the man’s lips barely opened and his eyes moved under the closed lids, with no limbs to push himself up, no feet to pllant on the ground, no calves to substain his weight, no knees to bend under the pressure, no thighs to pull himself upright, no legs to move through the land and carry Shintarou to safety and salvation, Kazunari did the only thing his body allowed him to: he shouted at the top of his lungs.

-          _HELP!_  
  


-          _HE’S STILL ALIVE! HELP!_  
  


-          _SOMEONE…! …ANYONE!_  


-          _HELP!_ Please…  


-          Help me… help him…  


-          _HELP!_

 

*

-          Tora! _TORA_! Did you hear?

-          Yeah, let’s have a look!

-          Holy saints! Isn’t it our Doc!?

-          Riko! _RIKO_! Send Junpei, Rinnosuke and Kiyoshi down the beach, quick! Go run the bell, gather Shun and tell him to call a doctor from the city: I think we’ll need him.

-          _YES_!

 

-          What the hell happened to him? Did he slip on a rock or something?

-          Come on, kid, you drank a hella lot of water but you’ll make it.

-          Didn’t anyone see him come down here?

-          I thought he was home, I haven’t seen him all day… Hold on, Doc, we’re here.

-          There was someone else around, screaming for help!

-          There’s noone around, though. Couldn’t it be the Doc?

-          No, it sounded nothing like him.

-          Perhaps we didn’t hear well, Tora. Let’s bring him somewhere warm and dry, quick.

-          Junpei! Here! _QUICK!_

 

-          What’s wrong, Tora? Let’s go.

-          Yes. I just… thought I saw… nevermind. Let’s go.

 

Kazunari, hidden behind the nearest rock, stared and listened helplessly as those five, huge men, gathered the doctor’s form and brought him up the cliff with practiced movements. It hurt to have Shintarou taken away from him like that, but it was for the best, wasn’t it…?

He slipped under water and slumped on the bottom like a dead weight, empty as if someone had just carved a hole through his chest and sucked life out of him.

Because no matter how mad and disappointed and scalded he’d been at the human’s words, no matter how they’d cut through his flesh and soul, Kazunari had had it confirmed that he couldn’t live in a world Shin-chan wasn’t part of anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...happy MidoTaka Day?


	9. Chapter 09

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "…you’ll end up hating me for having done this to you, and I won’t be able to take it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Sorry for the delay, as usual.

Shintarou didn’t want to wake up.

If he did, he would have had to face the consequences of his own actions and take responsibility for them.

He hadn’t seen the attack coming, though he knew he’d perfectly deserved it. For the longest moment, as he slipped out of consciousness and sank deeper in the ocean, he’d almost felt at peace with the thought of dying that way.

As he laid on what he supposed was his mattress, pain spread through his whole upper body, he almost wished he had.

Fate was, apparently, not done with him, yet.

  
*

  
-          Shintarou. You hear me?

Nakatani’s voice was familiar, though unexpected, and he finally opened his eyes more out of surprise than anything. He wasn’t able to form words, though, and even the guttural, istinctive moans that came out of his lips felt like sandpaper on his throat.

-          Hush. It’s alright. You’re going to be fine.

He barely nodded and passed out again.

  
*

  
When he woke up once more, it was at the sound of pots clattering and dried herbs being mashed. He turned his head to the side enough to see Kiyoshi’s grandmother, along with a couple of other old women from the village, standing at his table and following Nakatani’s lead as he showed them the recipes on Shintarou’s notebook and explained thoroughly and patiently how to chop, stew, cut and mix which part of which plant to obtain the better result.

The man didn’t miss his movements and was at his side in a rustle of clothes: his gestures were curt and practiced and though Shintarou couldn’t keep track of all of them, he knew his former menthor was checking him from head to toe. With reason, if the jolts of pain that ran through his body were to be considered.

-          The fever has gone down, but you’ve broken at least a couple of ribs on you right side. Probably cracked more. You’ve been lucky they haven’t punctured your lungs.

Shintarou looked at him through half-lidded eyes, unsusr eof his capacity to convey words only through them, at the moment. Nakatani must have been used to it, though, for he answered the unspoken question all the same.

-          You left my contact beside the town phone, apparently. Your officer read “Doctor Nakatani”, the name of the city, and knowing that I was an acquaintance of yours, called me directly and told me you needed a physician, and why. I tried to tell him I was not the specialist the were looking for, but since there was no time to spare and who knows when the true doctors would have answered their calls, I gave in. It’s not like I haven’t handled my fair share of emergencies and minor interventions in the past, after all, and I was sure you would have had anything I could possibly need to treat your case here, in your house. I jumped on the evening train, and here I am. That was two days ago. You went in and out of sleep several times, but you probably don’t remember it. Rest, now.

Shintarou opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. Nakatani squeezed his left shoulder and, before going back to the busy women, added:

-          My wife and son are perfectly able to take care of the shop for a couple of days. As for these kind ladies here, we’re just preventing your hard work from going to waste. Sleep now, Shintarou. Next time you wake up, I’ll have you drink some broth.

  
*

  
-          What happened?

-          I hoped _you_ could tell me, actually. From what I’ve been told, it is likely that you’ve slipped on the rocks and fallen in the water. Though they’ve found you in a weird position…

-          How?

-          They heard someone scream for help and once they reached you, you were halfway on the shore, lying on your back as if someone had pulled you up there. Not a natural position for someone that has just fallen from a cliff and fainted.

-          I don’t remember.

Nakatani looked at him pointedly.

-          _I don’t remember._

The man just sighed and got up to fetch a glass of water.

-          Who found me, by the way?

His front door slammed open and a tall man with cropped brown hair and a scary face burst in, loudly:

-          Yo, Mabo! How’s our doctor doing? Ohi, are you awake, kiddo? You gave me quite the fright when I fished you from the water! What’s wrong with him, Mabo!? Did you poison him, you old shrimp?!

Tora put an arm around the other man’s shoulder. Nakatani tightened his hold on the glass until his knuckles turned white and slowly turned towards a bewildered Shintarou.

-          Shintarou, I don’t think I’ve ever told you: Kagetora Aida is an old acquaintance of mine. I am sorry to learn that his manners have not improved over time. Nor did his taste for nicknames.

Despite himself, Shintarou snickered.

*

  
The good thing about recovering from such a traumatic experience was that he needed plenty of sleep and a heavy dose of his own painkillers, that Nakatani didn’t skimp on: the first days of his convalescence passed in a blur as he drifted in and out of consciousness, and that meant he could escape his thoughts for a little longer.

It didn’t last much, though, and too soon he was still hurt enough to require absolute rest, yes, but also well enough to stay awake without drugs in his system for most of the day. Or with a very little dose of them, anyway. Nakatani saved hima gain, then, filling his hours with insightful updates about his herbs, practical questions about their maintenance and everything that wasn’t expressively written on the journals and notebooks he kept around. He made sure Shintarou’s work didn’t fall behind and Shintarou, though he knew all of it was also due to the fact that Nakatani’s interests were partly at stake there, couldn’t help but feel a rush of affection for his mentor, who didn’t really _have_ _to_ do all of that.

One morning, as he was propped up on the pillows and Nakatani fidgeted on the table, elbow-deep in smashed red seaweeds, Shintarou opened his mouth to express some of that gratitude, or at least a tiny bit of it, but closed it promptly when the man lifted his head from the bowls and nailed hin to the bed with a simple, stern glare.

-          Don’t you dare. Lady Teppei and her friends are coming and I’d like both of us to keep our composure and dignity. Alright?

-          …alright.

-          How many of these should I boil?

-          What? Oh. Er… a full cup, sir.

*

  
It couldn’t go on forever.

Nakatani jumped on the early morning train ten days after he’d come, leaving behind a patched up Shintarou, still not allowed to exert himself physically, but definitely out of any danger. Breathing hurt, moving around (no matter how little) hurt _a lot_ , buti f he were to stay in bed any longer, he’d go mad.

Kiyoshi’s grandmother managed to keep him on the mattress for another bunch of days, but at two weeks from the accident she gave up as well. Shintarou was no stupid, though: stubborn as he was, he also knew what he needed to recover and never stopped listening to his body and its requests – but full immobility distressed him for entirely different reasons, so it was with great enthusiasm that he went outside every day to sit on the porch and chat with whoever had volunteered to help him with his plants that morning. He also chopped and macerated roots and leaves in the aftenoons, filling jar after jar and journal after journal with the development of his researches.

Not once he turned his eyes towards the ocean.

 

*

 

Kazunari was desperate.

Since the men had taken Shintarou from his arms, weeks before, he had not seen the man at all, not even once, not even by mistake. He knew they’d brought him into his house, but from that house, Shintarou had never come out. People walked in and went back all the time, but Kazunari didn’t know what that could mean. A man with a stern expression had appeared out of nowhere one night and everyone listened to what he said seriously. He spent an awful lot of days in Shintarou’s house (Kazunari was sure he _slept_ there, too) and it made his blood boil.

One thing was sure: they hadn’t brought Shintarou out of his house in a wooden box, nor wrapped tightly in a cloth, and they hadn’t buried him in the small square yard behind the church, which meant the simplest and yet the best thing: he was not dead.

It was all Kazunari needed to hear and know, and only when it was clear, from the fishermen’s chatters, that the man was, indeed, recovering well, Kazunari allowed himself a sigh of relief and, for the first time in days, he left the spot in the bay from which he could best see Shintarou’s windows to eat something.

He was hurt, there was no denying it. He felt angry, disappointed and frustrated. Betrayed, most of all, and sad beyond consolation. He was also a bit mad at himself, because in the few hours after he’d swum away from Shintarou’s house, he’d ended up in the place where everything had gone wrong and dived around the rocks to unknown depths until he’d fished Shintarou’s glasses, broken and askew but still intact, out of the black, cold waters – and was now keeping them with him all the time, stashed in the pouch he wore tied around his waist or cradling them in his hands like they were his greatest treasure.

Shintarou didn’t want hi, and no matter how hard it was to believe it and to accpet it, there was also no denying it. He’d made himself pretty clear. And since Kazunari had made his worst fear come true and attacked him, actively tried to kill him, it was very unlikely that he would change his mind, now.

What if Kazunari had broken him beyond repair? What if Shintarou hated him? What if he told everyone about his existence and they came for his head?

_He had to go_.

Living in the bay was painful, since every place he laid his eyes on reminded him of Shintarou, and Kazunari felt sure thay, no matter how many years he could let pass before returning, even when Shintarou would have been nothing but ashes, disappeared from the memory of every living person, Kazunari would have still seen him climb the reef with steady steps, pick his herbs with practiced gestures, smile at him from above the surface of the water. He was sure he’d still feel Shintarou’s hands around himself, his body spreding warmth all through Kazunari’s belly, his lips on Kazunari’s forehead – and still hear his soothing voice in his ears.

He suddenly remembered those old tales his mother had taught him… stories about the black merman Himuro, the most beautiful creature to ever grace the oceans, and the tragic love he held for the lonely, human, fisherman Atsushi. It started like many of their fables, with a silly accident that forced the two different worlds to meet (someone said Himuro got caught in Atsushi’s nets, others believed he sought the man out himself, for Himuro the Beautiful had never been a proper merman), but the narration soon focused on how they spent the years together, just the two of them by the sea, with only each other for company; how the man had aged in a blur, while the creature stayed young and untouchable and so splendid through the decades; how Atsushi Murasakibara, child in the body of a man, much less imposing in his last months of life due to his curved back, had died in the merman’s arms on a cold winter morning, snow falling over his still form; how Himuro the Beautiful had been unable to let him go, even in death, and brought the body of his beloved with him, underwater – where he’d secluded himself in a small cave and mourned his loss until Death itself had took pity of his sorrow; how Death, after finding the wrecked merman hugged tightly to what was left of his Atsushi, had finally granted Himuro the mercy of descending upon him. Himuro the Beautiful, the only merman to ever die of heartbreak. Many said his love was unrequited and used the story to point out the danger humans posed on their kin, but Kazunari suddenly felt more than a little empathy for the unlucky merman that Himuro might have been. He wondered if Death would have taken pity on him, too…

Not yet, though. Not until he’d seen _his_ human one last time.

 

*

 

How could he hurt his loved ones this much, Shintarou didn’t know. He didn’t remember when he’d become such a liar, either. He’d always had the talent to destroiy his sources of happiness, though, hence his last encounter with KAzunari, once he forced himself to think back to it, didn’t come as a total surprise. A tragic occurence, buto ne he could, as awful as it sounded, relate to his own character.

It felt as if, all of a sudden, he’d gone back to the first day he’d set foot in the village, when he’d gone through the motions like a living puppet, but without any will to push himself forward. Except, this time, he wasn’t the only one to notice, as his state of apathy and depression was a common topic among his worried neighbours. They couldn’t find a source to his troubled state of mind, though, amd mostly blamed it on the hit he’d taken to his head and nearly deadly experience he’d gone through. It didn’t convince anybody, much like the cries of help that had allowed them to save their doctor, but they didn’t have anything else to hold onto.

Luckily for everyone, nobody in the village seemed to grasp the concept of “minding you own business” and since the stern doctor from the city had told them to keep Shintarou from physical labour for at least other three weeks, they’d made it their mission to nurse their physiscian back to perfect health and help him prepare their medicines for the upcoming winter. Shintarou, as he watched them chatter loudly around his table, joke across his yard and bring him treats and advices as if he were some kind of sick child, was sure they were all havingtoo much fun with the whole ordeal.

All in all, between the need to keep his façade and the practical necessity to _pay attention_ to everything the villagers did to his greenhouse and blooms, the days went by without much angst. The nights were terrible. As soon as the last volunteer, usually Kiyoshi’s grandmother, had left him, after dinner, his head istinctively turned towards the back window, the one that overlooked the sea, with a sense of longing and much greater guilt. He felt trapped twice: physically because he had no chance to go back to The Pond in his current state – his body was not ready for the climb and the villagers would have noticed his absence immediately – and morally, because he knew he had lost every right to set foot there the moment he’d started antagonizing Kazunari’s confessions.

Face in his palms, he had spent countless hours going back to his memories of that faithful day, choking back sobs at the reminiscence of the heartfelt words of love the merman had bravely spoken and he’d cowardly refused, muffling screams of regret and frustration in the pillow and ackowledging his own sorrows.

For he had told just _one_ lie that day, the one that had hurt the merman the most and made everything fall apart. It had been brutal, and he’d omitted the most important truth behind those devastating words: _…you’ll end up hating me for having done this to you, and I won’t be able to take it._

The worst thing was that, after a couple of weeks, it was clear that he wasn’t able to take the current situation, either.

More than one, scary time he’d found himself staring at the dark blue waters from the reef and wondering if they could, indeed, be the end of his sufferings as much as thely were their beginning. It was usually then that someone from the village would look for him to ask for a last-minute check, an opinion on their ill lamb (the bit of information about him not being that kind of doctor had never broken through), or with a couple of newly fished salmons as a late thank-you-gift for all the free remedies. He would go, then, follow them to their houses, dispense advices for their animals that were more pills of common sense than anything else, accept their gifts with a small smile and sincere words of thanks.

The ominous pull of the water lessened.

The emptiness inside him stayed.

 

*

 

It had been at least six weeks from the accident when Kazunari found the courage to go back to The Pond. He hadn’t managed to catch a glimpse of Shintarou, yet, and he was resolute to do so before leaving for good. No matter how hurtful, he didn’t want his last memory of Shintarou to be the one of his broken, unconscious body. He needed to see him on his feet again. He needed to see him living in the human world where he belonged.

He didn’t expect to find the man he loved, at the end of October, perched on the flat rock in the middle of The POnd, hugging his knees or with his legs crossed, doing pretty much nothing but staring at the water. Kazunari his below the surface and watched, too stunned to act, too proud to go back and ackowledge Shintarou, surprisingly still too angry to go close to his human without the urge to wreck him.

Shintarou looked bad. As in, his skin was grey, his eyes red and with dark circles beneath them, his irises and hair dull. He’d lost weight and his face was pained, lips slightly blue from the cold. It wasn’t the image Kazunari was looking for, and he tightened his grip on Shintarou’s glasses, eyes never leaving the human’s face. There was another pair of spectacles on his nose, maybe a spare old one, and they looked a bit ridiculous on him. Kazunari saw Shintarou’s mouth open and form words, but the sound of the waves covered his voice and the merman refused to go closer.

After what felt like an eternity, Shintarou slipped in the water without a sound and slowly reached the shore, where he stood, wrapped in a blanket, for another long time. As the sun started to set, he hung his head and silently climbed back up the reef with awkward, tense movements.

The scene kept repeating itself for days and Kazunari found himself glued to that spot. Every morning when the sun was at its highest Shintarou would come, swim to the flat rock and stay there, leaniing towards the water and talking to himself, uncaring of his own shivering, until the cool air had the best of him. Then he would go back to the beach and stay there until he was dry and warm enough, then a little more, too, still muttering words to the wind, speaking softly, as if telling a secret, possibly the same mantra day after day. Kazunari didn’t know. He never found the guts to reach him and listen to his words.

But he didn’t left the bay, either.

*

  
It turned out Shintarou didn’t visit only The Pond. He repeated m ore or less the same course of actions near every small beach they’d spent time together, though he only swam in the Pond. Every time, he’d take advantage of his chores and find long minutes to put some distance between himself and the rest of the world and sit as close to the water as he could, always talking.

Some days his face was more tense, his eyes more tired. Some days he was more prone to hold his arms tight around his chest and some days his breath was laboured. There were times when he tried, in vain, to choke the tears back as he spoke, but not once he stopped his secret speeches to get up and leave. Not before he was finished.

In the end, Kazunari gave in.

It was a rainy morning at the very end of October and the thin drops falling in the sea not only prevented him from hearing anything that left Shintarou’s mouth, which wasn’t unusual per se, but they also partially shielded him from Kazunari’s exceptional view, which was utterly unacceptable.

Luckily, the water was not clear, it never was in that season, and the sea was not very calm, which meant the merman could stop right under Shintarou’s feet and be sure the latter would have never noticed him.

At a close inspection, the first after weeks of forced separation, Kazunari almost forgot he had a very valid reason to hate the man above him. Shintarou was _miserable_.

-          …you’ll watch your life slip through your fingers in a blur and consciousness will dawn on you then, and you’ll blame me for being the reason of your doom, and you’ll be right, and I won’t be able to take it…

…and he’d been talking to _Kazunari_ the whole time.

*

  
-          It wasn’t a lie, you know. Most of it wasn’t, all in all. Even if I were to believe you, and heaven knows how much I _fear_ believing you about this whole Witch thing, how much I’d like you to be _wrong_ , well, even if I gave in and took your words for true… how could I let you go to your death like this? Sea monsters, dark cold waters full of vicious demons and terrors… and you’d go on your own, just like that, and expect me to be _happy_ about it? There is no certainty you’d be successful and failure would mean just _death_. You expect me to bid you farewell with a kiss and the promise to see you again on a pair of legs, just to be left alone for the rest of my short life? Standing on a cliff like I’d grown roots and waiting for the return of a love that very likely won’t ever come back? Spending what would be left of my few days eaten alive by guilt over sending you to your death with no other reason than my own selfishness? Because you would be _gone_ , and it would be all my fault for not being strong enough to put an end to such madness before it was too late…

It was incoherent and it took a while to Kazunari to make sense of it, but when he did his heart clenched again, though in a very different way.

-          …and what if you _were_ actually right, and you _really_ managed to come back to me on your own legs… It’s… there would be no going back, then, wouldn’t it? And I know, _I know_ I can’t speak about your life and what it has been until now, but have you ever, in your wildness and freedom and endless centuries of possibilities, felt _regret_? Even once? Because _I_ have, up to a point, and I have seen what it does to people and I swear to the heavens I’d do _anything_ to avoid you such fate. I may not be a good judge of everything you went through, but I’m not wrong in saying you were not made for bitterness and remorse. Your heart will wither away, your soul will long for something you would not be able to have anymore and i twill be your death, as well as mine. You’ll realize I am nothing but a weak human being like the hundreds you’ve watched before me and wonder what it was that pulled you to make that choice. You’ll blame me for taking the waves away from you, and you’ll be _right_ , and your heartbreak you’ll break my heart too, and we’ll end up causing each other’s downfall. Do I want you with me? I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life: I want to be with you all the time, I want to teach you everything you need to know to live in this world, I want you to lean on me while you move your first steps, I want to pull you back on your feet when you fall, I want you to point out to me all the things I’m not able to see. I want you to experience all the good things this world has to offer and I wanto to be with you while you do so, as your lover if you want, or your dearest friend if you’ll end up favouring the love a woman and the comfort of a family, of your children. I want you to meet people, make them laugh, let them love you as well. I want to hear your own laughter ringing through the village, I want you to be _happy_ , all the time. But you won’t be… no matter how much I’ll try to protect you and shelter you from this world, you’ll inevitably come in contact with the miserable limits of the human race and i twill destroy you, little by little, and i twill destroy _me_ twice as much, to see you fading away like a shadow, and the shell of what you were before, while mortality and regret will consume you and tear you apart. You’ll realize I was the one that chained you to such tragic destiny and forget your words of love in favour of mind-consuming hate and no matter how much I love you and will still love you at that time, that love will only trigger more spite from you, and feed the guilt that will already be destroying me. I could be able to endure it, if it meant you could be at peace with yourself, but you won’t, and your grief and desolation will be too much of a burden for me as well. I know I hurt you. I lied to you and wounded you deeply. But in the blink of an eye I’ll be dead, and i twill happen so soon and so suddenly that you wouldn’t even notice. Time will heal your spirit and before you realized it, someone else will have caught your eye and you’ll be able to trust again. Years will pass and one day you won’t be able to remember my face, my name, my place in your life. One morning you will have forgotten my existence altogether and you’ll be well, no bad memories nor doubs left. You’ll survive this accident and go on with your life, as you’re meant to. Who am I to hold you back? Who am I to strip you of your very essence and condemn you to desperation? I am sorry for having caused you pain, and I wished my last memory of you was a happy one, but if hurting you and not seeing you anymore is the price I have to pay to ensure you’ll keep _living_ in the end, then I’ll take this weight. It was always meant to be mine to shoulder, anyway.

 

Kazunari would have jumped out of the water and thown himself at Shintarou right there.

Yes, he was still mad. Yes, it still hurt. Yes, he had definitely picked the dumbest, most ridiculous, most aggravating human that walked on earth. But that human was definitely _his_ , and so madly in love with him to throw his feelings away for what he believed was Kazunari’s sake. He had toyed with Kazunari’s feelings too, though, in the name of something that wasn’t ineherently his to question, but there was no doubting the purity and ovewhelming selflessness behind his words and actions. No one had ever gone to such lenghts for Kazunari. No one had ever cared enough. No one had ever _loved_ him so much.

And with the knowledge and wisdome of a creature that, indeed, had learned to look into its own heart ages before and had been aware of the consequences of its choices for _years_ , Kazunari smiled through the tears that had filled his eyes and _forgave_.

He would have pushed himself up to the shore, up beside Shintarou (Shintarou that had spent evey free hour of the last weeks talking his own sorrow to the waves, begging them to bring Kazunari a small part of the truth, a small crumble of the love that moved him), where he would have wrapped himself around his human, tail and all, holding him as tight as he could without hurting him (no more hurting each other, in any way) and whispering words of comfort in between kisses, saying that _yes_ , Shintarou was a fool and an infuriating man that had made a huge mistake, but a _good_ man nevertheless, so _good_ and so _selfless_ , and that Kazunari loved him too, loved him just as much and that Shintarou had to _trust_ him for once, do not worry and have _faith_ in the merman he claimed to love…

He didn’t have the chance, because while Shintarou was still talking, a figure appeared on top of the cliff, calling his name with an angry tone, scolding him for coming alone to such a dangerous place when he was not yet in top form and the ground was slippery for the rain. Kazunari looked helplessly as Shintarou raised to his feet meekly and went back to the narrow path with a last, painful glance at the grey ocean. He watched the green head disappear through the woods and only when none of the two men were visible anymore he snapped out of his reverie and made up his mind.

Squeezing his eyes shut, burning Shintarou’s open, vulnerable expression and his worn out, though still beautiful, face in his retinas, Kazunari clutched the spectacles tightly, credled them to his chest and kissed them twice.

Then, he put them in the pouch, the one that contained his blades as well, turned around towards the open sea, exited the Pond swimming through the hidden tunnel for the last time, and headed north.

Nobody saw Kazunari the Merman ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . We're almost there! I can't believe it! 
> 
> . Chapter 10 is already in progress, but due to my busy schedule and an insane need/want to post the end of this story on Midorima's birthday, I think I'll post a double update with the conclusion AND the epilogue on July 7th. I know it's in two weeks but, well, two chapters... and it would be fitting, wouldn't it? *^*


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, miracles happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . I can't believe I reached the end of this thing. THANK YOU to everyone that sticked with me until this point. Feedback of any kind keeps motivation up: I wouldn't have written it all if not for you all. You have my gratitude.
> 
> . It has been brought to my attention that at least a couple of readers have celebrated their birthday in these past few days: happy birthday! Best wishes from me as well!
> 
> . Leona, I love you. 
> 
> . I am aware that there are still many typos in the previous chapters: I'll polish them when I have time.
> 
> . I kind of really want to cry right now.

The weather had grown worse since the end of October, and when November came it was clear to everyone in the village (even to a novice like Shintarou) that the winter would have reached them very early that year and it would have been a long, hard thing. Shintarou managed, despite the lost time, to box enough medicines to fulfill Nakatani’s orders and made the delivery himself under the first snow, mud and hail not yet enough to isolate the village completely.

His menthor, as they had concurred, paid him half of the established sum and signed him a formal paper in which he bonded himself to estinguish the debt at the end of the cold season, when they would meet in person and discuss the success (or lack of) of the whole ordeal.

Shintarou used great part of his earnings to re-stock his supplies, buy food to fill his cupboard (indulging himself with a couple of not-perishable delicacies he hadn’t tasted in years) and make sure he wasn’t going to suffer the cold in the upcoming months with new warm clothes and blankets. Once he was done, there was still enough money left to support him all through winter – and he still had savings from the sum Seijuro had given him before his departure, thus he feared no emergency. He went back to the village with a loaded cart and the calm reassurance that he’d done everything humanly possible to secure his survival for the upcoming months.

The villagers had all been wise enough to start preparing for the cold in advance, well before fall. When the bad weather hit them at full force, they were ready: their animals safe, the boats sheltered, the pantries as full as they could be. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be enough, perhaps their stocks wouldn’t have lasted until spring, but they had done everything in their power and that was it: nobody could control the weather anyway. Shintarou, however, made a mental note to always be generous with his food and hospitality and tried to save all that he could, from that moment on. Who knew who might have needed some kind of help once February came…

*

Real trouble arrived in the middle of November: until then, it had been more a matter of cold and snow, but at the beginning of the month thunderstorms and heavy rains forced the men inside, wrecking their sheds and flooding some of their fields and homes. They had no casualties, but the wind almost pushed Riko off the cliff, one morning, while she rushed with the others to help the Izukis gather their cows, and Shintarou had a hard time calming Tora down and forcing hand-made sedatives down his throat to make him recover from the scare and the shock. Junpei too.

The 20th of November brought the angriest, highest waves they had ever seen, and since those were men that had lived their whole lives on the sea, their astonished, pale faces terrified Shintarou. That night, the howl of the wind sounded more like a wail of agony and the doctor thanked the heavens for his bolted windows. Rain filtered inside here and there, but anything important was locked away, safe and dry. Shintarou worried for his plants outside, praying al the deities in his personal pantheon to spare his greenhouse and make his herbs survive the damage, already thanking the gods for the small mercy that was the position of his frontyard: open, yes, but partially shielded by the house itself and the forest as well – which were currently taking most of the wind’s fury.

Turning in his bed, unable to sleep much like every other inhabitant of the village, that night, Shintarou listened to the loud roar of the waves and was reminded of the last time he’d talked to the merman, and seen his face. No day passed without him sparing a thought (or a hundred) for the creature he still loved, but that night more than ever Shintarou felt the ocean had become a hostile stranger and a vicious presence in his life, and that night more than ever he wished Kazunari was by his side again.

Exhausted, he succumbed to sleep in the darkest hours of the night, his slumber troubled by unsettling dreams of Kazunari screaming his name in terror.

*

Shintarou woke up at the break of dawn with no actual rest on his back and too much anxiety to keep him still. He opened his eyes to what he believed was a dream: everything around him was silent. Dim rays of light filtered through his locked windows and that simple fact was enough to alienate him even more: he’d grown so accustomed to wake up to dark, stormy days that the pale flare felt weirdly out of place. So did the lack of noise, after the incessant pounding of the rain, the loud growls of the sea, the crashing rumble of thunders. The air Shintarou breathed was extremely heavy and so static he was sure the smallest movement would have lit sparks. He suddenly felt more tired than when he had collapsed, barely two hours prior, an invisible force closing in from every direction, an upsetting dread that made him sweat cold for no apparent reason. Paradoxically, he also felt acutely awake and painfully aware of his surroundings. Suddenly restless, as soon as a seagull cried somewhere above him, he snapped out of his feverish state and jumped out of bed, mindful of the cold stones under his feet, and dressed up.

Breakfast was a quick, spartan affair and once he’d gulped down the last handful of walnuts, he took a deep breath and went outside.

The air was cool and crisp, though strangely vibrant with life, and the sky was clear and blue: such was the contrast with the previous days that Shintarou thought he’d stepped in another dimension. Perhaps he did.

His yard was miraculously intact. Damaged, but not beyond repair, and intact, for the most part: nothing hard work and time could not fix, and luckily he had plenty of both to spare.

Curiosity and no little worry for his neighbours moved his feet towards the rest of the village. Knocking on the Teppeis’ door to make sure they were fine, he saw people slowly coming out of their respective houses and everyone sported the same haunted, worn-out and slightly bewildered expression.

-          Are you alright, Doc? Hell of a thunderstorm, wasn’t it?

-          There’s been some minor damage, but nothing too severe. What about the rest of you?

-          The shop’s sign is gone: the wind ripped it off. We’ll find it somewhere absurd six months from now, I bet. It’s not like I need it, but I liked it… However, we’ve been lucky it didn’t break through anything.

-          Ohi! Are the Teppeis fine?

-          Yes. Kiyoshi has everything under control. He’s checking the windows and roof and then he’s joining us.

-          The west side is flooded, but the water’s flowing away as we speak. A couple of broken doors, some shattered windows, but that’s pretty much all. Tsucchi risked a lot after rounding up the animals and locking the shed. The wind pushed him off his ladder and he almost broke his neck: his wife is so mad right now that he wishes he had!

-          Shut up, Shinji.

-          Ohi! Rinnosuke! Are the kids alright?

-          What about the boats?

-          We left them in the usual crook, they should be safe. But let’s go and see while the weather holds: I don’t want any ugly surprise.

-          There’s Kiyoshi! Anything wrong, son? The oldies?

-          Just shaken and full of rheumathysms. They’re tidying up what they can, now: let0s make the most out of this nice day, yes?

-          That was everyone’s intention, you dumbass.

-          Doc, you’re with us?

-          If you think you could use a hand, than yes.

-          If there’s trouble I could use both your hands, shoulders and legs, kid. Come on.

But all of a sudden screams erupted from beneath the cliff: a high-pitched woman’s voice yelling something that got lost in the breeze. It was enough to set the men on alarm, though.

-          Isn’t that your mother, Shun?

-          Yes!

-          What is she doing down there on her own!?

-          She chased after one of the small goats that dashed away this morning when he opened the shed.

And true to her son’s words, widow Izuki suddenly came up from the path that led to the beach, a brown little goat struggling in her arms, hair come loose from her bun and waving in the air. She was panting from the effort but her face was set and tense for another reason entirely.

-          Are you all DEAF!? I’ve been screaming for HELP this whole time!

-          The wind’s gone up again, mom: we didn’t hear you.

-          ARE YOU HURT!?

-          I’M FINE. But there’s a MAN on the beach!

*

-          A man?!

-          A man. I don’t know if he’s alive or not, I couldn’t check, but he’s on our shore. LOOK!

And despite the packed crowd of men, Shintarou saw the figure, prone on the rocky beach: the small built, the thin bones, the mop of coarse black hair.

It couldn’t be.

He didn’t know he had stopped breathing until he saw the men already moving at the bottom of the reef towards the unconscious youth, and opened his mouth to speak.

Dashing forward like a madman, he grabbed a blanket from Rinnosuke’s arms as he passed him and literally threw himself down the narrow path, long legs quickly bringing him in front of the small group of fishermen, a few meters away from Tora, who was already kneeling beside the body…

-          _DON’T TOUCH HIM_!

 _He_ had to be the first (possibly, the only one) to reach that body. _He_ had to be the one to check its vitals, the one to bring it back to life (if there was some left), the one to hold it and be in charge of it from the very first to the very last moment.

Because that body, the body of a _man_ , abandoned on the beach belonged to _Kazunari_ , and Shintarou would have never allowed _anybody_ to lay a hand on it.

*

Putting all his energies into not showing the villagers any of the emotions that stormed inside him, he schooled his features into a stern, concentrated expression and took his place at the man’s side. Mechanically, coldly (he couldn’t slip there, couldn’t handle questions at that moment), he followed the procedure and touched and probbed where the protocol said he should, forcing himself to focus on the answers that that body was giving him, more than on the different texture of the skin under his fingertips, or the blank features of the well known, beloved face. The physician in him won, and for painful minutes Shintarou felt so detached from his own body that he could almost watch himself at work from afar.

Kazunari’s eyelashes fluttered and he whimpered in pain. The villagers gasped but Shintarou cut their comments sharply, tearing away one of his shirt-sleeves and tying it tightly around Kazunari’s eyes, shielding them from the light. Then, he wrapped the blanket tight around him and picked him up in his arms, making a beeline to the peak of the cliff and to his house, ignoring the calls and offers from help that came from the fishermen behind him.

He turned towards the mone, and stated with finality, as if daring anyone to oppose him:

-          I’m the doctor here. He’s my responsibility. I’m taking care of him.

And that was it.

*

Kazunari was alive, yes, but it didn’t mean he was fine, which gave Shintarou the chance to focus on something much more practical and urgent than the _meaning_ of all that.

He kicked his door open and closed it behind himself in the same way, arms burning in the effort of holding Kazunari up and yet with no intention of letting go before it was absolutely necessary; he crossed the vast room in a few long strides and considered shortening the distance, laying Kazunari on the spare bunk bed he used for patients, but quickly discarded the thought and placed the man on his own bigger mattress.

For several minutes, the body on his hands demanded his fullest attention and Shintarou complied, leaving nothing to chance and reigning everything under control, fingers not faltering once. Pulse, checked – regularly. Breathing, checked. Symptoms of drowning, checked. Broken bones, checked. Internal bleeding and injuries, checked.

At long last, the only thing left to be tended was a high fever that made Kazunari sweat cold and shiver. Listening to the faint whimpers that came out of his lips and looking at the light spasms in his limbs, it probably gave him bone and muscle pain, too. Pretty normal in itself, but the whole situation made “normal” a pretty useless term.

Shintarou hadn’t taken the cloth away from Kazunari’s eyes yet, either: he needed the light to move around his shelves and tools comfortably, but from the strong reaction he’d witnessed on the beach, he feared Kazunari’s eyes were still too sensitive to open comfortably in a fully lit room. The possible implications of that worried him a lot, but he had no other choice than to wait for the man to wake up to know how to approach the matter. Just to be safe, he gathered a jar fo soothing balm and some gauzes, closed the shutters for a moment and carefully applied the balm on Kazunari’s eyes, then changing the makeshift blindfold in a proper bandage.

*

It dawned on him as soon as he came down of his emergency-induced state of trance, while he was soaking clothes in a bucket of ice-cold water to help cooling down Kazunari’s feverish body.

Shintarou fell to his knees beside the mattress, hands shaking.

He lifted his head slowly and looked up at the man on his bed, really seeing him for the first time in hours. He reached out to cup Kazunari’s face as his own lips began to tremble and breath got strucked in his throat.

There was no mistaking the sharp features, the thin eyebrows and lips, the slim figure, the long black hair. It was different, in a way: the hair, indeed, though damp here and there from the sweat and still a bit matted from the salty sea water, felt softer to the touch; the skin looked paler, though that might have been a consequence of the fever, but most of all, it had lost its slickness and thin hair covered it in places. Shintarou could see its natural imperfections, the moles, the goosebump that rose with Kazunari’s shivers of cold. As the man’s mouth opened, straight, white human teeth were visible where fangs had been and a pink human tongue poked out. The ears were small, round and pink. There were no gills at the base of his neck. The slim chest and toned arms had stayed pretty much the same, but the hands, oh, the hands were a wonder of their own: no membrane to link the digits, those were hands made to be hold, short, round nails on top of fingers that were free of one another, ready to get entwined in someone else’s.

Shintarou pulled the blanket down to reveal the slim waist and a sob was torn out of his throat as the miracle unraveled under his eyes in the shape of narrow hipbones, male genitalia and a pair of sculpted, muscular legs with strong tighs, bendy knees, toned calves and feet of average lenght that he couldn’t help but contemplate in their perfect normality: arched soles, fine ankles, no toe missing.

Carefully, as if handling the most fragile of creatures, as if the dream could slip from his fingers should he stumble, Shintarou washed the sweat and salta way from Kazunari’s hot, feverish body thoroughly, pressing cool wet towels on his neck and armpits. Then, he laid the man more comfortably on the bed and covered him with a couple of his new duvets, a cool cloth balanced on his forehead.

He made sure Kazunari was resting as peacefully as his sickness allowed and resumed his kneeling position at the side of the mattress, an arm casually thrown over Kazunari’s hips.

Only then, he allowed himself to weep.

*

Shintarou couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he gave up on his work-ethic, but after the first tears had started to flow, he hadn’t been able to bear the distance between him and Kazunari any longer. It started with soft touches of his hands, slow caresses that covered as much skin as they could reach, it went on with feather-like kisses and it ended with him curling on the bed himself, taking up as little space as he could, holding Kazunari’s body close, cradling him to his chest, murmuring sweet, soothing nonsense when he groaned in pain and never stopping crying nor telling him, through the tears, all the things he’d always wanted to tell him, all the things he’d told the waves for weeks, soft confessions of love mingled in affectionate ‘you fool’-s.

But mostly, there was closure, and the stunned disbelief that came with the tangible proof that miracles happened, magic existed somewhere in the world, and the truth of it, the truth behind Kazunari’s words and journey and reality was maybe too much for Shintarou to handle, and he could only bury his face in Kazunari’s hair and neck, breathing in and kissing his temple, arms tightening around his shivering form and legs poking legs every now and then, just to make sure, over and over again, that he was not dreaming, and that Kazunari was, finally, indeed, in his arms where he belonged.

There were mistakes Shintarou had no intention of making again.

*

At lunch time, Kazunari’s fever had broken, though it didn’t disappear completely, and he fell into what looked like a peaceful, though deep, slumber, not wrecked by shivers anymore. Shintarou forced himself to part from him to let him rest and used the time to put together a small lunch for himself, but most of all something that could be edible and healthy for the ill man once he woke up, a man he felt compelled to check on much more often than necessary, but there always seemed to be hair plastered on Kazunari’s forehead that had to be swept back, sweat on his chest and arms to towel dry, sheets to adjust around his waist – and if all of that required some kind of physical contact, Shintarou didn’t skimp on it.

*

Mayor Hyuuga came to see how the supposed shipwreck victim was fairing. Shintarou sent him away with a truthful prognosis and the promise to call them once the man’s conditions allowed it.

He also kindly asked the mayor to advice the villagers not to bother coming before that circumstance.

*

Kazunari’s head floated in a pool of darkness and the man thought it was over. It felt a bit like being suspended in still water, but everything also felt so soft and silent that it was almost suffocating. There were voices, somewhere far away, and for several wonderful moments Kazunari was sure he heard Shintarou’s deep, reassuring tune murmuring sweet words of love in his ear – and felt the ghost of Shintarou’s touch on his skin.

The discomfort in his body grew until Kazunari was sure he was burning alive. There was not a single muscle that did not ache, no bone that didn’t feel on the verge of snapping, no nerve that didn’t feel on fire: it was pain like he’d never experienced before. And on top of that, he couldn’t see anything.

Several times he tried opening his eyes, but he only met more darkness. Panic overcame him and Kazunari did the only thing he could.

He screamed.

*

Shintarou was washing sweat-soaked clothes when the screaming started and in less than a second he had Kazunari in check. Holding a struggling youth was never an easy task, but that time Shintarou did indeed have his build's a’vantage, and with practiced movements managed to immobilize the other man, pinning him to the bed. Kazunari kept trashing around and wailing – to Shintarou’s expert ears, it sounded more like fear than actual pain, and it relieved him a lot.

More and more he tried to talk to Kazunari, but his voice went unheard. When the situation threatened to get seriously out of hand and dangerous, he boomed in his most authoritative voice:

-          CALM DOWN!

*

A shout loud as thunder echoed in kazunari’s ears and he froze. Because it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be…

-          _Shin-chan_ …?

*

Kazunari’s voice was so little and meek that Shintarou just _had_ to loosen his hold on the man: it was croaked, but that was to be expected from the water, sickness and lack of use – but most of all broken, and it made Shintarou’s heart clench. Still, it was so overwhelming to hear it again after so long…

-          Yes. _Yes_. It’s me. I’m here. You’re safe, Kazunari. You’re with _me_.

*

It couldn’t be. It was just too good to be true. But among the pain and dizziness and confusion, the hold on his limbs was strong, the warmth against his body real, the voice in his ears familiar and so dear…

-          Am I dead? Am I dreaming?

Shintarou broke.

-          No, you’re not. You’re _alive_ , and awake, and _safe_. You are safe, Kazunari. _You’re safe_ …

*

The more Kazunari got a grip on his sanity and awareness, the harder it was to calm him.

-          It HURTS. Shin-chan, _where_ are you!? _IT HURTS_!

*

People should have not been able to sound like that and it wasn’t fair that every word out of Kazunari’s mouth was like a stab through Shintarou’s guts, but he endured it as well as he could.

-          You have a fever. You’re sick and you were almost dead when we found you. Please Kazunari, calm down. Please, let me help you. Please believe me when I say you are safe here…

-          WHY CAN’T I SEE ANYTHING!?

It was the last straw.

Shintarou choked back yet another sob as he shuddered and buried his head in Kazunari’s nape.

*

The hot wetness at the back of his head distracted Kazunari from his crisis and he stilled, breathing heavily and letting exhaustion sink in. The body behind him shook, though in a restrained kind of way.

 

-          _Shin-chan_?

The grip on his arms tightened.

-          _…is it really you_?

He heard yet another sob (a sound he’d wished to not hear ever again but that in that context irocnically reassured him with his familiarity) and then the wrecked yet dear voice of his human was able to reach him, really reach him, that time.

-          Yes. It’s me, Kazunari. I’m sorry for holding onto you like this but you’re going to hurt yourself more if you don’t calm down.

Kazunari didn’t even hear the end of it: he tossed and turned and clawed its way to Shintarou’s chest and neck and shoulders, latching onto him like vine, breathing in his scent and burying himself in his arms. If he could just crawl under Shintarou’s skin and stay there…

-          _Hold onto me, please…_

He said it over and over, a lithany of ‘Shin-chan’ and ‘Please don’t leave me’ and ‘Hold me tight I beg you’ muffled in a stream of tears he had absolutely no way to stop.

*

Shintarou couldn’t let go for his life. It would have already been hard without Kazunari chanting his name like a prayer and crying his heart out over him.

And though it sounded pathetic, there was little he could do beside indulge every single one of Kazunari’s requests, murmur reassuring nonsense in his ear and offer his apologies whenever Kazunari stopped calling him.

*

Hours later they still laid entangled on the bed, both on the verge of extreme weariness but neither of them willing to give in to tiredness for fear of missing something, anything. It was Kazunari to break the string of apologies Shintarou kept muttering to his forehead.

-          Enough. Please.

Shintarou swallowed audibly and left his lips where they were.

-          Shin-chan. I’m asking again. This is real, right?

The arms around him tightened and he heard Shintarou gulp down the lump in his throat before answering.

-          Yes. It’s real. _It’s real_.

-          My body aches all over.

-          You went through a traumatic physical experience. You showed symptoms of drowning and you probably strained yourself to reach the shore. Your body has been under a lot of stress and developed a fever, which would explain your discomfort. It will get better, I promise.

-          Why can’t I see anything?

Shintarou sighed.

-          When I reached you, your eyes were too sensitive to the light. I tied a cloth over them first, bandaged them properly later. Give me your hand: can you feel it? There’s something over them. I wanted to wait until the sun set to take it off.

-          Has it set, yet?

-          Yes. It’s starting to get dark and we’re indoor.

-          _Take it off_. Please, _take it off_.

*

Anxiety came off Kazunari in waves as Shintarou worked swiftly to untie the bandages and unwrap them. When they finally came loose and the balm-soaked strips of cloth fell from his lids, Kazunari tentatively tried to blink, unable to bite back a hiss of pain.

The first thing he saw was a grey blur, then undefined shapes and shadows slowly appeared. Blinking hurt, but every time he opened his eyes his sight was neater and clearer until, at last, it settled.

Only to blur again when his gaze found a messy head of green hair, a pale oval face framed by large round glasses, a pair of red-rimmed, puffy green eyes Kazunari had feared to have forgotten. He felt his own tears falla gain as he shook and curled in Shintarou’s lap again, not once looking away, hands framing and caressing the beloved face, thumbs tracing his lips and still wet cheeks, chanting Shintarou’s name over and over, smiling despite, well, everything, as his gestures were mirrored tenderly.

*

-          What happened? Did you find me?

-          Widow Izuki spotted you first. She called for help. I saw you and got there first. I brought you here and treated you as well as I could.

-          Is this your house? The one I saw from the sea?

-          Yes, I live here. This is my bed.

Kazunari snuggled closer.

*

-          Tell me again that it is not a dream.

-          No, it’s real. You’re really here with me. I fear it’s a dream too, though. But it’s not, Kazunari. It’s not.

-          My hands feel so different…

He buried them in Shintarou’s hair, carding his fingers through green locks, sniffing and smiling at their softness, the way they slid through his digits like water themselves.

-          _I’ve always wanted to do this…_

Shintarou’s eyes shimmered.

-          Is it worth it?

Kazunari kept stroking him with the delicacy of a snowflake, full of marvel, experimenting all kinds of soft touches in wonder. Unable to speak from the lump in his throat, he could only nod, eagerly.

Shintarou kissed his eyelids.

*

-          I’m sorry. I’m sor-

Kazunari lifted his fingers to Shintarou’s lips and shook his head.

-          Don’t. I know, Shin-chan.

-          Do you?

-          The waves told me everything. Besides, it was my deicsion to make alla long. You have to trust me. I know it’s hard: I would have done the same if I were you. But you have to have faith in me on this, Shin-chan. Please, have faith in me.

Shintarou closed his eyes and nodded.

-          Can I make a very selfish request and call you out on the promises you made to the waves, SHin-chan?

The man kissed his hands and squeezed them.

-          Of course. Anything you want.

Kazunari curled up.

-          Can you be strong for me for the night? I still feel shaken and, well… _scared_.

Shintarou draped a blanket tightly around him and held him close for the rest of the night, drawing circleson his back with broad, gentle palms and letting Kazunari soak his shirt in tears and exhausted sobs. They dozed off like that, but for the first time since a very long period, they both slept soundly through the whole night.

*

For the first time in his life, Kazunari didn’t wake up alone.

He still felt very tired, but also extremely warm and weirdly calm. He breathed in deeply and inhaled the strong scent that came from the man that still held him: it was strong and pungent, maybe a bit too much to be pleasant, but it was also a dream come true and Kazunari loved it nevertheless. Istinctively, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he caressed Shintarou’s face and neck, watching his new hands and having a hard time believing they belonged to _him_ , mind still unable to make sense of the _two legs_ that laid under the covers.

Lost in thought, relaxed and at peace, surrounded by Shintarou’s scent and presence and belongings, he didn’t notice the man waking up unti he, too, moved to touch his hair.

-          Good morning.

-          Hello.

Shintarou propped himself up on one elbow, but he kept at Kazunari’s reach and didn’t break contact.

-          How do you feel this morning?

-          A bit weak, but… better. Lighter. My mind feels more… clear.

-          Good. Do you think you can eat something?

-          Give me squid.

Shintarou chuckled.

-          Squid is not good for sick people. You’ll have to go easier on your stomach at first. Can you trust me on this?

-          You are the doctor, right?

-          Right.

 

-          Can it wait a bit, though? Let’s… let’s just stay like this for a while. _Please._

Shintarou’s hand traveled to his waist.

-          _Of course_.

*

-          What was she like?

-          Can you believe that I don’t remember? I recall swimming north, pushing forward even if my fins felt like they were going to fall off. I thought about you all the time, the things you had done, the things you had said, and it made me go on. Don’t misunderstand me, I already wanted to go, but when things got really scary and it was high time for me to stop and reconsider, I thought of you and how much I loved you and I was able to swim more. I wouldn’t have been able to reach the den if hadn’t been sure of both my feelings for you and your feelings for me. There were… horrors beyond words in those waters and I couldn’t see anything. I thought fear was going to drive me crazy and perhaps I did, but even in the madness, even at the worst, most terrifying moments, you were there with me and that was almost enough to keep me going. I had your glasses, you know, the ones you lost in the ocean: I clung to them like my life depended on them. Actually, it did, probably. I remember reaching her den in agony, out of mind and a puddle of misery. I remember her, calling my name and soothing me and praising me, asking if what I wanted was worth my sharp merman eyes and I remember crying at her feet in relief, telling her to take anything, everything she wanted if it meant giving me what my heart longed for the most…

-          Your legs?

-          Your love. The shape in which I could have treasured it best.

He slid his arms around Shintarou’s neck and kissed his lips, his damp cheeks, his lips again.

-          I love you. I love you so much. I love you the most. You are precious, and beautiful and so worth it, Shin-chan. Have faith in yourself, you are so very worth it…

Shintarou sobbed in his arms and when he lifted his gaze to stare back at him, Kazunari was thrown off by the sheer force of it and the raw emotions that came unfiltered out of it.

-          I’ll make it worth it. Every day of your life I’ll make sure you’ll be happy. Safe. Content. I love you. I love you just as much. I’ll do everything humanly possible to make sure you’ll never regret it. I… find it hard to believe the words you’re saying, but I do believe in you and I do trust you, and if that is not enough, I don’t know what it is. There will be days in which my faith in myself will fade, but never doubt that my faith in you is _unwavering_.

-          I’ll be therein those days, Shin-chan. I’ll be there to remind you of your own worth.

-          And I’ll be there in the other days, when you’ll find your resolve lacking, to show you that you’re not alone, that you won’t be anymore, that you’ll _always_ have me.

Kazunari swallowed.

-          Stop making me cry, Shin-chan, it’s not fair.

-          It is, since you’ve been making _me_ cry since last night…

*

-          How long will it take for me to heal?

-          If your fever stays down, and it should if you rest enough, a couple of days more. But you have to listen to me and behave.

Kazunari nodded and lifted the duvet again, staring at his legs and feet much like he’d done the whole morning.

-          They’re amazing. And they move.

Shintarou chuckled as he heated some water and took out the lunch he’d made the day before for his loud patient. It was like hearing a kid discover the world for the first time, and just like with a kid, it would have been a pity to hinder his enthusiasm.

-          It’s a fine pair of legs. I bet they’ll carry you wherever you want.

Kazunari beamed as a bowl of hot broth traveled to his waiting hands.

-          I hope so.

*

-          Do you think you can sleep for a while? I need to tell the villagers about your ocndition.

-          What do you mean?

-          They saw you on the beach and tried to rescue you as well. I managed to outspeed them and reached you first, and since I am the town’s doctor, it was my responsibility to take care of you. But we’ve been locked inside for two days, and if I know them – and by now, believe me, I do – I bet that if I didn’t go out and tell them all about your health, they’ll start barging in at the most inappropriate times just to pry.

-          …why?

-          Because that’s what living in a small community implies. But it’s too early for you to worry about these things. Rest. I’ll handle the rest.

-          What are you going to tell them?

-          The truth, more or less: that you don’t remember where you come from, that the shock was so big you seem to have forgotten all the basic notions humans have, that you told me your name and that I mostly let you sleep, since you need plenty of rest. Thet they’ll be allowed to see you only when I deem it possible, because crowds make you nervous.

Kazunari smiled and sipped his broth.

-          Alright.

-          Rest, now. And stay warm. Winter is definitely coming.

*

-          I’ve been sleeping the whole day, Shin-chan!

-          That’s what sick people do to recover and what _everyone_ does at night.

-          I don’t really feel like it, though.

Shintarou threw an arm around his waist and Kazunari settled in his embrace naturally.

-          If you sleep through the night and wake up well rested I may consider teaching you the basics of walking, in the morning.

He felt Kazunari shiver in excitement and anticipation.

-          _Really?!_

Shintaou kissed his head.

-          Really. Sleep.

*

-          Shin-chan.

-          Yes?

-          I don’t care if my body aches and I can’t sleep and it’s frustrating to just lay here and have nightmares. There’s really no other place I’d rather would be, right now. There wasn’t for a long time.

Shintarou kissed him properly that time, and didn’t stop until they were both on the verge of drowsiness; there were few words still unspoken between them, at that point, but he poured them in those kisses as well and from the way Kazunari arched and moaned beside him, he’d probably understood them.

*

It wasn’t going to be easy, of that Shintarou was sure, but for some fated reason the future didn’t scare him in the slightest, and he didn’t feel any dread or impelling sense of doom at the prospect. He honestly didn’t know what would have happened once it became clear that the stranger was going to stay in the village, that he wasn’t going to leave Shintarou’s house, that he shared his _bed_ – but the truth was: he didn’t care. Those were things he could deal with as they came and he didn’t feel any uncertainty.

There was something much more important he had to protect now, be strong for, and he marveled at the fact that the prospect didn’t worry him at all, just strenghtened his resolution.

Kazunari nuzzled his neck.

-          I’m going to protect you too, Shin-chan. Take good care of you…

And just like that, he knew they would make it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . ...and now let's just move to the epilogue for the last bucket of feels.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later. Happily ever after.

-          I really don’t understand why you two are so keen in living in that damn place. You could find a nice house in the countryside, barely out of this city and you’ll have all the space you need to grow whatever plant you need, better soil too, but also an easy access to all our facilities and no winter isolation… Your business is solid, you can afford it.

-          It’s true, but you know, I _like_ living in that village.

-          There’s peace and quiet in the countryside too. There aren’t many people, there.

-          But they like to talk a lot, and not in the good, friendly way. I’d rather stay where I am. It’s safer. Besides, I _really_ like it there, sir.

Nakatani lowered his empty cup and nodded. The bella bove his door ringed soundly as Kazunari entered with a blast.

-          Have you done catching up? Because I’ve finished the deliveries!

Nakatani smiled and poured a third cup of tea as Kazunari sat down beside Shintarou and made a neat review of all the transactions he had successfully concluded.

-          I _told_ you that rickshaw was a good investment. It’s much faster that way: I wished we could use ride it home as well. Too bad the road is awful and I have to walk the bike there, it would have been useful for everyone.

-          You just enjoy pedaling far too much.

-          You’re just jealous because it was _my_ idea. And because my legs are better than yours – thank you, sir.

Nakatani looked at them with amusement before crossing his arms and putting up a stern expression. He waited until Kazunari had comfortably finished his hot drink before saying:

-          Now, out of the way, both of you. There are people who need to work, you know.

Kazunari leapt up with a smile and answered in mock indignation.

-          We _are_ working! I’ve delivered jars of medicines to the whole city and it’s not even lunch time!

Nakatani chuckled again as he lead them to the door and as Kazunari mounted the bike again and checked the brakes, the old man turned to Shintarou with a pointed look.

-          You’ve found yourself quite the _assistant_ , Shintarou.

Shintarou nodded somberly, but his gaze softened as it landed on Kazunari, still busy with the old bike.

-          The waves brought him to me.

-          A lucky occurence in the tragedy. Makes you almost believe in this whole destiny stuff.

Shintarou shrugged as he stepped towards Kazunari.

-          I’ve had faith.

*

-          Do you think we should buy something else?

-          There’s plenty of food in the cupboard and lots of wood, too. Shinji’s bringing home thrice the usual amount of flour and wool, not to mention oil. We’ve taken all the pharmaceuticals, clothes, shoes and replaced the broken tools. I think we’re fine.

-          Let’s get another set of cheap towels and rags: Riko’s due somewhere around the middle of winter and I don’t want to be unprepared.

-          Junpei is already freaking out. You’d think he’d be ready, the second time…

-          I would freak out too, if I were him…

Kazunari laughed loudly.

-          I bet you would!

 

-          Shall we go home, Shintarou? It’s getting dark.

-          Yes, we’d better hurry.

*

-          Ohi! Hawk-Boy! Are you sure we can still catch something over there?

-          Leave the pots in that clear spot in the middle of the rocks: they’ll come like crazy!

-          I swear, kid, I’ve never seen someone understand fish like you do. How the fuck do you come out with tricks like these, it’s beyond my comprehension. What were you in your previous life!? A triton!?

Kazunari winked.

-          Ahah! Something like that!

*

-          We made it in time: it’s starting to snow.

-          Good for us all, then. If it goes on like this we won’t be able to go out tomorrow…

-          Are the greenhouses alright?

-          We’ve put the reinforcements up last week, when the weather got worse. I checked them yesterday but if you want to make another round before it’s too lare, it’s fine.

-          Are you going to the main square?

-          Yes. Just making sure nobody has an impelling need of a doctor. Emergencies are pretty hard to handle on frozen ground with two feet of snow. Pass me the handbag, will you? The big one.

-          Be careful.

-          Oh, _please._

*

Shintarou came back a couple of hours later, warmth settling in his belly way before entering the house and its lit fireplace: Kazunari’s silhouette was visible from the window, moving around swiftly, with a joyful lightness in his steps. As the doctor stepped in, he was greeted by the inviting smell of stewed fish.

-          One of the panels of the yellow greenhouse was loose: I fixed it, but we’d better pay attention to the wind, just in case.

-          Alright.

-          Tired?

-          I’ve visited practically everyone in town and left palliatives. The eldest worry me a little, though.

-          Don’t they always?

-          Yes, but it’s worse every winter, you know? Hopefully, they’ll stay safe and warm this year too…

-          Look at the bright side! How’s Riko?

-          _Round_. I have this weird sensation that it’s going to be twins, but there’s no way to be sure. Maybe in a little while. Well, at least they have goats to provide milk…

-          Old Tora will be overjoyed.

-          Not nearly like Kiyoshi. You’d think the baby was _his_.

-          Ohi, don’t be grumpy. It’s sweet. It’s not like the others are less excited, by the way.

-          Shinji has already bought them a proper cradle from the fair, did you know? To make up for last time.

-          Yes, he told me last week! Said it was a collective present, actually. I gave him our share and a jar of your miraculous anti-colic mix.

-          Where was I when all of that happened?

-          Somewhere between the forest collecting musk and The Pond. By the way, how many times should I tell you to _not_ go down there alone? It’s _dangerous_.

-          I went there on my own all the time to see you!

-          It’s not the same thing! Don’t make me worry: I’ve already done it enough to last for a lifetime.

-          Said the Tireless Swimmer…

-          It. Happened. Just. _Once_.

-          And it was enough to send me straight into a panic attack, so please refrain from pulling stunts like that while I’m still alive.

-          Only if you promise, _again_ , to _tell me_ when and where you’re in the mood for the Pond’s seaweeds!

Shintarou kissed his smile, Kazunari hugged his waist.

-          Seems fair.

-          _Good_. Now, set the table, will you? I think it’s ready.

*

Bathing together was one of the very few things they indulged themselves with, even if the wooden tub, though much larger than average, was still a bit too cramped for both of them. Shintarou’s old one had given up one day, and the following week the doctor had left early for the city and come back with the new one, despite the not-so-little logistic problems. It was still one of Kazunari’s favourite gifts, and he cherished those moments of closure dearly. In a spurge of affection, Shintarou had also given in to his suggestions and hand-made a bar of herbal soap, an item that was now a fundamental part of their bathing ritual, as well as of their catalogue.

Shintarou’s touch through the bathing cloth was loving and full of care and made Kazunari feel like his body was, indeed, a wonder, worth of adoration. And devotion transpired from every gesture, every swipe, every soapy caress, a costant contact that was not sexual, not yet, but not less _intimate_ , either. It ususally led to more, since by the time Shintarou was done massaging his calves and feet (and really, who could have ever imagined that Kazunari, so reluctant to have his tail touched, a life before, would have _loved_ to have his legs caressed that much?) Kazunari was so lost in the pleasure-induced trance that the only thought in his mind was to bring Shintarou _closer_.

Mating had never been an issue for Kazunari: it came natural to his kin, a common phase of merfolk interactions, and Kazunari would have lied if he’d said it wasn’t pleasurable. But it had nothing in common with _this_. At his request Shintarou had, reluctantly, listed all the names humans had for their mating, pointedly looking at the ceiling while he tried his best to explain Kazunari the difference between _sex_ and _fornication_ , _copula_ and _sexual intercourse_ … Among the many terms he’d learned, Kazunari thought that ‘ _love-making_ ’ was what suited them best, since it was _love_ that he felt when Shintarou was bare and naked above him, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, _love_ that moved Kazunari’s arms and legs around Shintarou’s neck and waist, _love_ that came out of his mouth when Shintarou withdrew oil soaked fingers from inside him and filled him again a moment later, _love_ that clouded his mind as they moved together in the most primal rhythm, _love_ that poured out of his eyes as he arched his back and lifted his own hips in the desperate effort to milk more from every embrace, _love_ that radiated from them both at they reached the peak almost together, bodies exceptionally in tune with one another after years of thorough practice…

Kazunari breathed _love_ in those moments, and no matter how hard Shintarou blushed and tried to deny it out of sheer embarassment, Kazunari knew, from the light tremble in his hands and lips as he wiped the clean, that he did, too.

 

-          This is my favourite part of the whole ‘ _locking-ourselves-inside-for-the-whole-season_ ’ thing.

-          You say that everytime…

-          Because it’s true.

They stayed silent for some time, Kazunari’s back to Shintarou’s chest, just listening to the mild wind outside and looking at the hypnotic fall of the big, fat snowflakes.

-          I heard Nakatani, this morning. If you wanted to be closer to the city, I’d come with you, you know.

Shintarou kissed his temple.

-          I know, and I’m grateful. But I don’t think I want to. It would make business easier, especially in the future, when we won’t be much young anymore… but I’m not really fond of the idea of leaving this place…

-          Being sentimental?

-          And practical, at the same time. The… _acceptance_ we’ve found here it’s rare. Nobody finds us problematic now, because the village we live in is pretty much isolated, but near the city I’d be a very well known face, and by reflex you’d be too. People won’t be so lenient towards our lifestyle, there. I’d like to keep things as they are: I’d rather suffer the discomfort of frequent travels than be under pressure all day every day because I need to hide my feelings for you.

Kazunari held onto his arms.

-          I’m starting to understand why you ran away from the capital. It must have been hard.

-          It was even worse, there. I’d rather not repeat the experience.

-          Alright. Let’s stay here. After what you told me, though, I didn’t expect our neighbours to be so gracious about it.

Shintarou chuckled at the memory.

-          They went through the whole Shinji and Rinnosuke’s ordeal with incredible open-mindness. Our situation, if compared, was much less troublesome. That, and they’re good people, period.

-          I heard widow Izuki’s heart broke when she discovered, though. Lady Koganei’s too. They were already betting on whose daughter you would have married…

-          I never promised them anything.

-          You promised _me_ a lot of things, instead.

-          And I kept my word, didn’t I?

Kazunari laughed and turned around to hug him properly.

-          _Of course you did_.

*

-          Kazu.

-          Mh?

-          I have something for you.

-          Can’t it wait until tomorrow?

-          It could, but it wouldn’t have the same meaning.

-          Fine. What is it?

-          Sit up.

Something smooth and cold fell over Kazunari’s heart and traveled back up to his collarbones as Shintarou adjusted the lenght of the thin chords. Kazunari took the tear shaped stone in his hand and admired its cangiant surface.

-          It’s beautiful.

Shintarou leaned his cheek on Kazunari’s shoulder, hugging his waist.

-          It’s red agate. It’s your lucky stone as a Scorpio: it favours growth and regeneration, as well as stamina, power and vitality.

Kazunari had learned everything about zodiac and birthstones through the years, but one thing was kind of missing.

-          Who said I’m a Scorp-

The sentence stayed unfinished, though, as he remembered something he had said just a few months before, in a moment of bliss and raw happiness, thinking back at the day of late November when he’d hit the shore as a human being.

-          _You know, Shin-chan, it really feels like being born for the second time…_

 

-          Wait, what _day_ is it? Is it the _twenty-firs_ -

Shintarou’s mouth closed on his tenderly, hands travelling to cup his jaw and caress his hair – and Kazunari slid his arms around his neck, bringing their bodies together until the red agate pressed against both their chests. He moaned in the kiss as Shintarou murmured to his lips:

-          Happy _birthday_ , Kazu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Farewell, everybody! See you at next AU!
> 
> . I'm moving to the Yowamushi Pedal fandom for a couple of fic. If you are into TouMaki you might be interested in them. The first chapter of the first one is already out and you can find it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1907739/chapters/4114926)
> 
> . Next MidoTaka AU is already planned and drafted, I'm writing it as soon as I'm done with the TouMakis, though I may throw in a one-shot every now and then, if inspiration struck. Who knows.
> 
> . Again, THANK YOU for having made this fic real.
> 
> [EDIT]  
> . PS - I have only recently discovered wispiest(http://wispiest.tumblr.com/)'s fabulous illustration of mer!Takao, inspired by this fic! You can admire her beautiful piece here:   
> http://wispiest.tumblr.com/post/89823311036/alone-please-read-this-fanfic-i-dont-know-what
> 
> Thanks a lot! It's perfect and it made me so happy..! <3


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